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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 





i^r--i^Lyl 




The 'poor trclti's preacher arirl the 
prisoners fiieiTcL. 



MUSIC HALL DISCOURSES, 



MISCELLANEOUS 



SKETCHES, 



MINISTERIAL NOTES, 



AND 



PRISON INCIDENTS. 



ALSO, SONG OF CREATION, 



A POEM. 




REV. HENRY MORGAN, 
PASTOR OP THE BOSTON UNION MISSION SOCIETY 



TO WHICH IS ADDED A SKETCH OF HIS LIFE. 



BOSTON: 

SOLD BY H. W. SWETT AND COMPANY, 

128 Washington Street. 
1859 



/^ y4^ ^/t^. /A' 






CONTENTS. 



DISCOURSES. 

PAOB. 

Life of the Author — Introduction, i-xvi 

Preaching for the Times, .... 1 

Preaching to the Poor, .33 

Deal Gently with the Young Man, 57 

Woman's Mission, 81 

Address to Prisoners, 105 

Sermon to Soldiers, 129 

Corner-stone Address, 153 

Farewell Discourse, . 157 

A Negro Congregation, 177 

Negro Preaching in Augusta, 183 

SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 

Peaks of Otter, 194 

Washington Monument, 197 

Patrick Henry — John Randolph, 217 

Lorenzo Dow, 227 

Thomas Jefferson, 232 

The Broken Hearted, . 239 

Natural Bridge, 251 



PRISON INCIDENTS. 



Power of Appetite, 
Prodigal's Return, . 
Rumseller's Dream, 
Resisting the Spirit, 
Child's Eloquence, 
Bad Company, 
A Mother's Love, 
Mary in Prison, 

Ministerial Notes, 
Converted Catholic, 
Charlie in Heaven, 
Giving up all for Christ, 
The Hypochondriac, . 
The Fasting Man, . 



Creation, Temptation, and Expulsion, — A Poem 



1 






266 
271 
274 
278 
281 
284 
289 
295 

298 
300 
303 
306 
314 
315 

825 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859, by 
HENRY MORGAN, 
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 



::> 




MY MOTHER^S HOME. 
KewtowiL, Ct. 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 



Henry Morgan was born in Newtown, Ct., March 
7th, 1825. At the age of four years he lost his father, 
who was an inn-keeper, and who left but little for the 
support of the family. The family consisted of a 
mother and two sons. The elder son was brought 
up by the family of a relative, but Henry, during his 
boyhood, remained with his mother, and received 
from her the formation of his character. 

In a cold snow-storm in the month of December, 
three persons might be seen leaving the large white 
house, out of which they were ejected by the debts 
of the father, to seek shelter in a single room of a 
neighbor's dwelling. A cold day was that — one of 
the coldest of a severely cold winter. The banks 
were high, and the winds blew, and as the cutting 
blasts pierced that thin-clad company, it seemed to 
say, — " There is but little charity in this cold, heartless 
world." Through the drifting snow the mother led 
the way, and the children followed. The younger boy, 
brave beyond his years, as he battled with the oppos- 
ing elements, and strove to keep his little entangled 
feet above the snow, seemed to say — " Mother, do not 
cry. I shall be bigger by and by, and then you shall 
not suffer." At the opening of spring, an old store 
was fitted up for their reception, and there the mother 

ill 



IV LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

and one of the sons lived for many years. There 
Henry received the rudiments of his education, and 
his first knowledge of books. There, in gazing at 
the stars through the shingles of the roof, he took his 
first lessons in astronomy, and his first notions of 
the sublime. The pristine purity of that old building 
had never been tarnished with paint ; and since it had 
ceased to be a place of merchandise, it was never as- 
sailed by robbers. However, to compensate the want 
of art upon it, a variety of flowers were creeping upon 
lines and lattice work over the clapboards, which 
made the premises more picturesque than magnificent. 
There twelve of the happiest years of his life were 
spent in studying plans for the future, in climbing the 
ledges, and wandering in lone musings over the hills 
about that lone dwelling. There yet remain the trees of 
his planting, which have grown with his growth ; and 
there also stands the rock which was the rostrum of his 
early eloquence, where, " witii shape and gesture proudly 
eminent," he recited Milton to the cabbage heads. 

" His look drew audience, and attention still as night." 
" For he in height or depth still first and last sole king." 

As he lived several miles from any church or academy, 
he never went to sabbath school, and made but little 
proficiency in learning. There was nothing remarka- 
ble in his youth, but an indomitable perseverance over 
obstacles and blunders. In almost every thing he was 
engaged in, he so far overleaped or jumped aside, as 
to bring upon him frequent gibes from his compeers, 
and frequent failures. The first time he attempted to 
speak in debate among the schocl-boys, he failed ; the 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. V 

first time he declaimed before his teacher, he failed, 
and sat down to cry over it ; the first time he held a 
religious meeting, he failed ; and the first time he was 
advertised for a temperance address, he completely and 
totally failed ; and the first six times he applied for 
preacher's license in the Methodist Church, he failed. 
Yet in youth he was ambitious, though it was perhaps 
a grievous fault, as Antony would say, for it was to 
excel in every thing but his books. He was first in 
sports, first in the race, first in the ball play, and first 
in the scuffle ; and in riding the fastest colt in the 
neighborhood, no matter about the looks of it, if it 
would only ^o. "Action! action! action!" according 
to Demosthenes, was the first principle of his eloquence. 
Then driving Jehu-like, whether on the sled or skates 
or horse, he was in his natural element ; though twice 
was he thrown from a fractious colt and taken up as 
one dead. When muster times came round, among the 
urchins he was invariably chosen commander-in-chief 
of the light infantry. But in boyhood the subject of 
this sketch was no friend of book-learning. While his 
mother was anxious for his improvement, especially on 
the sabbath, he would rather be climbing the rocks and 
trees and waterfalls, and watching the thunder clouds. 
There was one place where he was not first. It was 
in his class at school. He speaks of once being 
crowded down by a fair little miss, much smaller than 
himself, because he failed to spell his word; and when 
he saw the rod was coming for his dereliction, as he 
envied the girl for her station, he crowded up to her to 
shun the rod, and let the most cutting part of it reach 
the object of his envy. When the mistress saw the 
tears flowing from the wrong eyes, and witnessed his 



VI LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

chucklings over his escape, she paid him his deserts 
with interest. However, that trait of bad spelling was 
not whipped out of him for many years; but, when 
travelling South he saw some of the letters of Patrick 
Henry, he thought that he had arrived at the " Appii 
Forum " of literature, and thanked God and took 
courage. 

His Christian experience in his own language is as 
follows : — "I was awakened to a sense of guilt and 
condemnation under the preaching of the Methodists, 
who were holding a protracted meeting several miles 
from the place where I was teaching ; but I resorted 
to every expedient to quench my convictions, until the 
Congregationalists from Greenfield Hill, formerly Dr. 
Dwight's church, appointed a meeting in my own dis- 
trict. In a private house, on Sunday evening, there 
was a gi'eat crowd, and one old man made a remark in 
the earnestness of his speaking, against which, after 
meeting, I took exceptions. On the way home that 
meeting was the object of my ridicule. And, I suppose 
assisted by the evil one, to drown my convictions, and 
shake off religious restraint, I was ruder than I intended. 
For, in the midst of railing, as if Satan might rebuke 
Satan, the wildest young man in town came to me 
and said in jesting, " Morgan, this is too bad ; you are 
the hardest case that walks these streets ; you better 
repent, or you will be damned." If I had been shot, I 
could not have reeled sooner out of the ranks. I knew 
he was jesting ; but God chose it as the arrow piercing 
my soul, which never should be extracted except by the 
blood of Jesus. I flew from the company, jumped 
over the fence, and trod over the fields, over the 
marshes, over the brambles and hedges, not knowing 




DWIGHTS ACADEMY 
Greenfield Hill, Ct. 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. VI l 

whither or for what, but that I might go onward and 
still onward. Like the stricken deer, I desired to be 
alone, and hide my head in the thickets. I came to a 
large rock, in the borders of a grove, and there spent 
nearly all night in prayer. It was the fall of the year ; 
the whippoorwill had sung his last note for the season, 
the leaves were falling, and the sound of the cricket 
foretold the coming of winter's desolation. I prayed, but 
could not weep, my heart was so hard and my feelings so 
desolate. Towards day I returned to my room, and 
waited on the Lord till the dawn of the morning, when 
I found some little relief, but no assurance. There was 
to be a meeting in a day or two at Dwight's old 
academy, and I resolved to go. The deacon knew the 
state of my feelings, and told me if I wanted an active 
faith I must exhibit some action in taking up the cross. 
He requested me to kneel down by his side, and after 
him to pray. It was a great cross ; but I at last con- 
sented. I had said but a few words before the light 
broke in upon my soul. And there, as one walking 
in darkness, I saw a great light, and there was broken 
from me the yoke of my burden. I was afterwards 
called to teach in that academy ; and the place where 
I knelt, and the circumstances connected with that 
meeting, were ever dear in my recollections. As long 
as that building remained, I had appointed seasons for 
kneeling in its venerated walls, and renewing my 
covenant with God. There I made my first public 
prayer; there I first read a commentary upon the 
Scriptures ; and there I made my first speech. Around 
that academy there were also other associations of 
hallowed interest. There, as a teacher and a preacher, 
President Dwight had left a halo of glory ; and the asso- 



VUl LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

ciations connected with his teachings, — the building, the 
panes of glass, scratched over with diamonds, bearing 
the names of some of his pupils, the marked and 
bruised benches and desks, all now old and dilapidated, 

and the antiquated rostrum, in ancient architecture, 

seemed to draw the curtain of the past and introduce 
the venerable man, seated in his chair, before the 
school. The public green, the spacious old church, 
and the private dwelling where the pupils boarded and 
studied, also were objects of interest. 

However, soon after my conversion, as might be 
expected, the members of the church treated me with a 
little coldness, because I joined the Methodists. Per- 
haps it was an ill-advised step ; but as my mother was 
a Methodist, and my sympathies were with them, and 
they were building a new church and gathering a new 
society in the northern part of the town, I trusted to 
God for the consequences, and joined them. God only 
knows what was for the best. I have been an un- 
worthy member among them for nearly sixteen years, 
and perhaps, have many times grieved them and tried 
their patience, by the boldness of my declarations. But 
I believe they have not had occasion to charge me with 
misdemeanor, reproach me for avarice, or impeach the 
purity of my motives. God only knows what, in the 
hidden future, is in reserve for me ; the past has been 
tracked in tears of anguish, over unexpected trials and 
disappointed hopes. 

At sixteen, he commenced to teach school in Hope- 
well, a district of his native town. His wages were 
next to nothing, his school small; but, as he had been 
favored with no advantages for learning, and had no 
friends to assist him, he considered it a triumph ; and. 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. IX 

by his success, he made a triumph out of it before the 
year closed. At seventeen, he opened school in Green- 
field, and there made a profession of religion. From 
that time he spared no pains to improve his mind, and 
increase the sphere of his usefulness. The whole bent 
of his mind seemed to be upon the art of eloquence ; 
this was the thought of his dreams, and of his waking 
hours. For seven years, though teaching much of 
the time, he made the art of persuasion his chief study. 
The school-room was the theatre for his practice ; and 
without the use of the rod, he commanded strict obe- 
dience, and poured such enthusiasm into the young 
hearts of his pupils, as was rarely witnessed. Mid- 
night and sunrise often found them at their studies ; 
and such was the ardor of their young minds, that their 
parents were often compelled to interpose for the safety 
of their health. And such was their unbounded love 
for their preceptor, their untiring devotion to his pleas- 
ure, and the many sacrifices for his interests, that the 
parting with them was many times more affecting than 
the farewell greetings of his present thronging audi- 
ences. 

But he longed for a wider field ; he felt that men are- 
but children of a larger growth, and moved by the 
same passions ; he would try his talent in speaking 
upon temperance. His first efforts, however, were 
complete failures. He had borrowed the language of 
the learned ; then endeavoring to deliver it with his hot, 
fiery temperament, he made himself simply ridiculous. 
He had not learned, until now, but that the lofty lan- 
guage and rounded periods of Blair and Johnson might 
be thundered with the vehemence of a Demosthenes. 
A few failures convinced him of the necessity of a lan« 



X LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

guage of his own, and a knowledge of men and nature 
rather than books. He therefore resolved to travel; 
not to visit foreign courts and palaces, and not to 
measure the grades of royalty, but to frequent the 
almshouses, prisons, and hospitals of his own country, 
and there, with an ear tuned to the voice of their wail- 
ings, take a lesson of sorrow, and learn the language 
of grief. He had two objects in this; one was his own 
improvement in obtaining statistics, and lecturing, and 
the other to administer spiritual comfort to the afflicted. 
On foot, and with only an exhorter's license, he com- 
menced his travels. The sabbaths were generally 
spent in prisons or poorhouses, and during the week 
he lectured in the intervening villages, drawing his 
arguments from his sabbath observations. 

Several years were spent in this mission, and with 
no small advantage to himself. Now in the prison, 
taking notes of sympathy and sorrow in nature's own 
language ; now reading her lettered pages upon the hills, 
the rivers, and the sky ; now upon the plantation, famil- 
iarizing himself with slavery ; and now with the vocif- 
erous acclamations of freedom ; now communing with 
the spirits of the caves, and tuning his harp in the 
silence of their subterranean abodes, and now battling 
alone with the storm-fiend on Mount Washington, 
meeting its sunshine and its storms, and narrowly escap- 
ing death ; now conversing with the roar of Niagara, and 
now with his own spirit, while a lone night wanderer, 
losing his way amid the darkness, cold, and snow of 
the wilderness ; and, despairing even of life, here, amid 
such scenes in the classics of nature, he became familiar 
with her smiles and frowns, found a key to the hidden 
treasures of her affections, and opened the well-spring 



LIFE OP THE AUTHOR. xi 

of her tears. He is a favorite child of nature, and he 
has loved her from his youth. The high rocks near his 
home, the mountain wilds and waterfalls, yet present to 
him many a sacred spot, where he spent the livelong 
day in harmonizing the beauty of the poets and the 
passions of the psalmist with the voice of nature. It 
is said of Patrick Henry, that he neglected the business 
of trading, to study nature from the countenances of his 
customers ; and, though his business went to ruin, his 
talents soon became the most brilliant in America. 
And, with the subject of this sketch, he made all things 
subservient to one object, — all books, all faces, all scen- 
ery, all hours, whether of labor or recreation ; and these 
were laid at the shrine of eloquence. He was ambi- 
tious, and spent all he had, of time, talent, and wealth, 
upon its altars ; but his was not the ambition of a mili- 
tary leader thirsting for blood, nor that of the million- 
aire for hoards of gold, nor that of the statesman for 
political renown ; nor was his fame to be at the expense 
of others' ruin, but for the good of all mankind. The 
height of his ambition was to ameliorate the condition 
of suffering humanity, to comfort the mourning, to 
bind up the broken-hearted, to reclaim the back-slidden, 
and " vindicate the ways of God to man." Notwith- 
standing his efforts and desires for good, for a long time 
prospects were against his succeeding. He so far broke 
away from the restraints of custom and the trammels 
of the schools, determined to be himself or nothing, that 
he must necessarily give offence to the book- worm and 
formalist, and also make many failures. Determined 
to have no studied language, but to let nature speak 
her own, and having no " firstly, secondly, and thirdly," 
to help out the dull monotony all was risked upon the 



XU LIFE OF THE AUTl^OR. 

command of the moment, and all his creative powers 
were taxed for a grand triumph or a total defeat. The 
first place where he took a text to preach was at 
Goshen, Ct., the land of light, an appropriate place for 
a young preacher; but his mind was thicker than 
Egyptian darkness. The house was full and there 
was no preacher. As the elders of the church politely 
invited him to officiate, he could not resist the tempta- 
tion, but started for the pulpit, and took his text rather 
at random, and preached after the manner in which he 
took his text. Several pious old ladies were somewhat 
affected with the discourse, as they looked only at the 
good intentions of the preacher, disregarding criticism. 
But it was without system, or even forethought, and 
this trying ordeal convinced him of the necessity of 
order in his discourse, although the divisions might not 
be named to the audience. One member remarked, 
that had the text been a target, and the preacher a 
marksman, the safest place for deserters would be in 
range of it. We next find him addressing the prison- 
ers at Wethersfield. Here was a field that harmon- 
ized with his feelings, and suited the melancholy of his 
SQul. The analogy between the bondage of the body 
and that of the soul was here so striking, and the free- 
dom of the one so like that of the other, and the pris- 
on-house of the damned so like the dungeons of earth, 
that a double meaning could be conveyed in almost all 
his language. This double meaning, like the expres- 
sions of many of the prophecies, is what dazzles the 
imagination, and fills the mind with crowds of images. 
As a speaker, this is the key-stone of his eloquence. 
He spoke from these words : " The spirit of the Lord 
God is upon me, because the Lord hath anointed me 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xiii 

to preach good tidings unto the meek ; he hath sent me 
to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to 
the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that 
are bound." Never to that day had he been blessed 
with the like freedom of spirit and language. He rose, 
pale and attenuated and melancholy, with the fatigue 
of his pedestrian travels, and with continual reflections 
upon his mission, and with a morbid imagination, in 
fit mood to sympathize with the forlorn and unforgiven. 
In that discourse he seemed, like the pearl diver, to go 
to the bottom of sorrow, to fathom the depths of mel- 
ancholy, and bottle tears from the fountain of grief. 
The published discourse can give no adequate idea of 
its effect, as the pathetic parts could not be recorded ; 
and being oft repeated and enlarged it has lost its orig- 
inal force. The prisoners wept, and the keepers wept 
also; although they stood in rather an unfavorable 
light, according to the figures of the discourse. This 
experience in speaking where full scope may be had for 
the passions, was of service to him, although, at first, he 
did not profit by it. He had not as yet learned to suit 
the subject to the occasion ; and not distinguishing be- 
tween the solemnity of a congregation of forlorn pris- 
oners, and the excitement of a wild, hooting rabble 
coming out to hear the witticisms of a temperance 
speech, he must necessarily miscarry. He gives the 
following account of a failure in a letter to his 
mother, dated Nov., 1849: "Alas ! how changeable are 
all things, and how easily overturned are the prospects 
of man ! After producing so wonderful an effect among 
the prisoners at Wethersfield, I had hopes of nobly 
succeeding in my calling. But now how changed I I 
cannot command the respect, or even the undivided 
2 



aUV LIFE OP THE AUTHOR. 

attention of the audience ; I am every day losing con- 
fidence in myself, and matters are growing so much 
worse that I have thought to come home in despair, 
and perhaps to die w^ith disappointment. God knows 
my heart and the sincerity of my motives ; I have but 
one object, and that is to do good, and to be morally 
useful in the world. Some have declared that I ought 
to be advertised, and stopped from going about to in- 
jure the cause. One deacon turned me out of doors 
at a late hour of night, so that I was obliged to walk 
all night ; and a minister remarked that my calling was 
towards home, and that I had better obey it as soon as 
possible, for I never had been, and never would be, 
called to preach. I am very sorry to relate this, for 
I know that the news will severely affect you; but 
you will know better how to pray for me, and, if I am 
compelled to come home, you will not cast me off in 
the time of my disappointment, but will sympathize 
with my misfortunes." Another letter we give, dated 
June, 1850 : " Last Sunday I was at Schenectady, N. 
Y., and was invited to make my home at the house 
of President Nott, of Union College. He was exceed- 
ing kind to me, gave me advice like a father, and also 
several valuable presents. Oh, how feelingly that ven- 
erable old man prayed for me ! too old to kneel, yet, 
with his hands over me in prayer, I felt like the sons of 
Jacob receiving their blessing. He sent me in his car- 
riage to the almshouse, and would have gone with me, 
but for preaching in his own church at that hour. At 
six o'clock, by his direction, I had assembled for me, in 
the Methodist church, the largest audience that I thus 
far have ever addressed. President, professors, stu- 
dents and ministers, all hung spell-bound upon my lips; 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. XV 

and when I contrasted the education of those students 
with the subjects of my mission, the drunkard's chil- 
dren, schooled in vice and trained for prison, — when I 
presented the firmness and power of an educated will 
to resist temptation, a mind exercised to denial and 
disciplined in danger, fed on the intellectual rather 
than the sensual and gross gratifications of the flesh, 
and the strength of a character rooted and grounded in 
decision, in contrast to the imbecile, vacillating, lust- 
ful, soul-destroying habits of the sons of neglect, I 
found response in many a countenance, that told me 
my words were not in vain. I had not felt the full im- 
portance of my mission until I contrasted the sons of 
crime and graduates of vice with those students. I so 
entered into the spirit of their cause, that I seemed the 
embodiment of forsaken and forlorn orphanage, or of 
children worse than orphans. I seemed from the low 
places of untold misery, and the low, back under- world 
of woe, to rise before them, with the tattered garments 
and supplicating voices of their own distress. In im- 
agination I seized the young innocent, wiped the filth 
from its lovely face, combed its silken locks, and 
dressed it in beauty, and then, presenting it to the 
audience, inquired wherein it differed from the son of 
fortune and of fame? The address was listened to 
with marked attention, and many friendly greetings 
were ministered to me." From Schenectady he visited 
the alms-houses in the northern counties of New York, 
and also the State prison in Clinton County, At this 
prison he obtained much valuable information concern- 
ing the evils of intemperance and infidelity, and sev- 
eral anecdotes of the most thrilling kind. While 
witnessing the care-worn culprits, working out in the 



XVI LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

dark, damp mines the penalty of their crimes, their 
pale and dejected countenances untinged by the light 
of the sun, the doleful look of despair at sight of a 
preacher of the Gospel, and their trembling at the name 
of the Bible — that Bible, the disregard of which had 
wrecked all their hopes ; while witnessing their peni- 
tence, and their hard, rewardless labor, in pecking at 
the ore and digging deeper their own dungeon, and the 
engines for draining the fast-flowing floods, and the 
strictness of the armed guard, marching to and fro 
with weapons of death, — it appeared to foreshadow the 
place where "The angels which kept not their first 
estate, but left their own habitation, He hath reserved 
in everlasting chains, under darkness, unto the judg- 
ment of the great day." From this place he travelled 
through various parts of Canada, and, returning 
through Vermont and New Hampshire, arrived the 
next year at Boston. 

At Boston, he lectured in Tremont Temple, and to 
the sailors, soldiers, to the poor and prisoners, and elic- 
ited some very flattering notices from the press. After 
eight years he arrived again in Boston, and commenced 
to preach in Music Hall. The '•''Ministerial TriaW* 
of those years are the subject for a future volume. 



PREACHING FOR THE TIMES. 

Two Discourses, or a Sermon in two parts, delivered in the Boston Music 
Hall on Sunday afternoon and evening, Feb. 27, 1859. 

INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. 

In appearing as a religious teacher before a Boston audience, 
it may be necessary for me to define my position. For several 
years I have been laboring among the poor and prisoners in 
various States, and in a mission which is vulgarly termed " on 
my own hook." What led me to this mission may be seen in 
a volume of prison incidents, now in press. It may be asked, 
'' Why not labor among your own denomination ? Why not be 
sustained bj some established society ? and why not go where 
you are called ? " I answer, that the poor to whom I am sent 
are not of any particular denomination ; and although I have 
preached in nearly every Methodist church in this city, and 
I suppos^ very acceptably, yet the sermon that I shall preach 
to you upon " Preaching for the Times," I apprehend would 
be acceptable to but few churches of any denomination in this 
city. However, ye are to be the judges whether it be the 
truth, though the truth is not always to be spoken, and I fear 
not in all places. As to being called, there is a vast difference 
between being " called " and being " sent." We are often called 
to the place of the highest salary, and the loudest call has the 
sweetest silver-tone. But we are generally sent the other way, 
down among the poor. Says Christ, " The Spirit of the Lord 
is upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel 
to the poor." " I am sent to the lost sheep of the house of 

272 ' (1) 



a INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. 

Israel;" therefore, we are often called one way and sent 
another. And brave is the man who can resist the silver 
" call," and oljey the copper " sent." My object in Music Hall 
is to present the gospel to the working classes and to the poor. 
This can be done by no one denomination, and by no common 
missionary arrangement. If you furnish a small, separate 
building for them, and a third-rate, broken-down preacher, the 
poor will not have the gospel preached to them, for they will 
not go there. If you say there are some free seats in the 
churches, still the self-respect of an American mechanic will 
not receive as a gift what others purchase ; and if he cannot 
compete with others in seat and dress for his family, he will 
stay at home. Nothing can meet the demands but a large 
popular hall, where all seats are considered alike, and all per- 
sons are on a common level. 

With regard to the expenses, I have nothing in Boston with 
which to bear them but faith. And I must confess that this is 
a currency in not very high demand on 'Change in State Street, 
and the agents of the hall here will be loth to receive it without 
some discount. It alarms my friends wonderfully to think that 
without a single backer, or a single dollar pledged, I should 
come, an entire stranger in the city, and while other preachers 
have their established churches, and members covering the 
whole ground, that I should hire the hall for a whole year, 
when three weeks rent would cost more than I evar had for 
preaching in my whole life. Yet such is the case. But the 
Lord prospered me while in youth. By teaching, I obtained 
enough to give a thousand dollars for my church near Bridge- 
port, and to give a thousand dollars to my unfortunate brother ; 
and still " the oil and the meal are not wasted." I may be 
mistaken in the generosity of Boston ; but, as seven years ago, 
when but a mere boy, I lectured in Tremont Temple, and had 
the expenses refunded to me, I have yet to learn that in the 
same community bread cast upon the waters may not again 
return. 

273 



SERMON I. 

PREACHING FOR THE TIMES. 



Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature. He 
that believeth and is baptized, shall be saved ; but he that believcth not, 
shall be damned. — Mark, 16 : 15, 16. 

PART FIRST. 

1. Nothing could be more unpromising than this, the 
last commission of Christ to his disciples. To human 
appearance it was wanting in all the essential elements 
of success. It was wanting in the popularity of its 
author; in popularity of doctrine, and popularity of 
its heralds. First, the Author. — Had he started from a 
distinguished city of some vast empire, and from the 
first schools and authorities of his times, and been ex- 
ceedingly popular among his own countrymen, and had 
presented attractive doctrines, and been followed by ac- 
complished disciples, the world perhaps might give him 
a hearing. But he was from a small province, and from 
a small and despised city of that province. The whole 
of Judea was less in extent than the State of New 
York, and so small that Cicero affirms that " Their's 
must be a small God, to govern so small a territory." 
Could he have boasted of authority from Rome, the 
seat of the world's empire, or honorary degrees from 
Athens, the seat of learning and home of Plato and 

Aristotle or even from Jerusalem, the capital of his 

27a 



4 PREACHING FOR THE TIMES. 

own country, human calculation might have looked on 
the enterprise with favor. But to be nurtured in the 
most insignificant city, of so small a domain, the in- 
habitants of which were a byword of contempt, and 
the name Nazarene a reproach ; to be a working car- 
penter, the son of a carpenter, housed in a stable, cra- 
dled in a manger, born in poverty, bred in poverty, and 
ever living in poverty ; then to be condemned by his 
own countrymen, and by the laws of the very religion 
he preached, condemned as an impostor, slain as a 
malefactor, — for the followers of such a leader to think 
of succeeding, and those disciples themselves of low 
birth, mean condition, without learning, without popu- 
lar influence, in fishermen garb and Gallilean brogue, 
for them to aspire to the seats of the Aristotles and 
thrones of the Caesars, what could be more preposter- 
ous ! And for such disciples of such a leader to preach 
a doctrine the most repugnant to human nature, com- 
manding to mortify the deeds of the flesh, condemning 
the natural lusts and passions of man, which lusts have 
been deified as gods and worshipped by kings and 
princes, orators and sages the most renowned of earth ; 
gods that give full indulgence to every evil yet agreea- 
ble to fallen nature ; — a Bacchus for the appetite, a 
Mars for ambition and murder, and a Venus for the 
lusts ; — such gods as lecherous man, all greedy, would 
wade through hell to worship ; gods supported by laws 
and customs of a thousand years, and by earth's chiefest 
philosophers and poets, whose works are even now the 
classics of our schools, — for such fishermen preachers to 
dare disturb the shades of Demosthenes and the manes 
of Homer ; what but a superhuman power could make 
them venture even the first attempt I ^ But they w^ere 

274 



PREACHING FOR THE TIMES. 5 

commanded, and they went in their Master's name. 
And though laws and customs, principalities and 
powers, nature and philosophy, death and the Devil, 
all combined, were against them, nevertheless buoyed 
up and urged on by an invisible power, they felt wiser 
than Solon, stronger than Hercules, and braver than 
Csesar. They had a secret power the world was unac- 
quainted with ; an ineradicable principle, which neither 
fagots, stones, nor steel could crush. Poor, yet rich in 
faith ; foolish, yet destroying the wisdom of the wise ; 
weak, yet mighty to the pulling down of strongholds ; 
fighting, yet not with flesh and blood ; conquering, yet 
not with carnal weapons, but by faith, by endurance, 
and by suffering. And here is the secret of their suc- 
cess — in bearing, enduring, suffering. The hope of im- 
mortality made them obedient unto death. The world 
had not seen the like. When from Jerusalem the Phar- 
isees and disciples of Gamaliel, in their long-robed dig- 
nity, stood round a dying Stephen, and saw him pray- 
ing for his persecutors, amid a shower of stones, as he 
was looking to Jesus at the right hand of the Father, 
and shouting triumphantly in death, they were as- 
tounded at the spectacle, and saw the Jewish hierachy 
crumbling before the suffering constancy of martyrdom. 
When Imperial Rome witnessed the chained martyrs 
marching smilingly to the rack and to the stake, wel- 
coming the flames, which to them were but a fiery 
chariot to glory, — welcoming the chain of iron which is 
soon to be exchanged for a golden crown, — welcoming 
their mockery and ribaldry, when hearing far above 
their blasphemy, the watchword, " Be faithful unto 
death and I will give thee a crown of life ; " and seeing 
the heavens open to their enraptured vision, while they 

A* 276 



6 PREACHING FOR THE TIMES. 

were shouting victory ! victory I — Rome at such a sight, 
shook to her foundation ; Jupiter astonished, leaped 
from his capitolium ; Bacchus reeling backward, hid his 
vine-clad brow; and Venus, — naked, blushing Venus, 
flew in terror from her pedestal to hide herself in shame ; 
while Mars found a new warfare, that shields and hel- 
mets could not resist, nor steel repel. Ah yes, the fish- 
ermen conquered. Against the world's customs, the 
world's philosophy, the world's laws, the world's gigan- 
tic vices, and the might and majesty of empire, they 
fought, and they conquered. Heathenism flew to the 
dens and caves, and Idolatry, as if smitten with a thou- 
sand thunderbolts, was scattered to the moles and bats. 
Satan fell as lightning from heaven. The banner of the 
cross waved over the capitol of the Csesars, and unnum- 
bered millions of redeemed voices swelled in loud ac- 
claim with the angels of God, — " Holy^ lioly^ lioly^ Lord 
God Abnighty, which was, and is^ and is to come ; the 
whole earth is full of thy glory P 

2. We noiv consider the " manner " of their preachings 
in contrast with the ministrations of the present day, 
— No one will deny but that the pulpit is the great 
bulwark for the stability of government, the seat of the 
highest poetry, the home of the sublimest oratory, the 
fountain of the purest eloquence, and the " Legio Ful- 
minea " — the thundering legion against vice, if it be 
properly manned. But the watchmen of the American 
pulpit have yet to learn, that to be " stuck over with 
titles wins no battles," and that reading an essay on 
metaphysical dogmas, "coldly correct, and critically 
dull," without one pointed thrust, or strong appeal, is 
not preaching. They have yet to learn that this fastid- 

276 



PREACHING FOR THE TIMES. 7 

ious elaborateness; this overweaning nicety in tech- 
nicalities ; this " darkening counsel by words without 
knowledge ; ^' this uttering things too wonderful to be 
understood ; this cushioning the face of the hammer of 
God's word, lest it be too harsh for some dignified 
pew-holder ; this diluting and dulcifying the word of 
God to make it palatable for high life, and so palat- 
able that the Devil himself might drink it without 
turning his stomach ; this hiding the sword of God's 
truth beneath diamonds, ribbons, and rhetorical flour- 
ishes ; this fighting with kid gloves, silver canes, and 
buskins, — will never overturn Satan's kingdom. 

How would Peter look after being commissioned by 
heaven to preach, in coming to Gamaliel for schoolboy 
lessons, and copying enough of the Targums and Tal- 
mud s, to weave into a discourse, then start for Athens 
with manuscript in hand, and with the gruff* voice of a 
fisherman, and brogue of Galilee, an unlearned and 
ignorant man, as he and John were said to be, even 
after they had received the Holy Ghost, and there upon 
the forum of Demosthenes read a dissertation on the 
moral and intellectual merits of the Nazarene ? How 
ridiculous to stand before the household of CsBsar to 
demonstrate, from a written essay, the necessity of 
abandoning all the gods and religion of their fathers, all 
the customs, philosophy, and poetry of a thousand 
years, that they might be saved by a malefactor, cruci- 
fied in that little rebellious province of Judea. What 
a tremendous excitement he would raise! What a 
bluster in the court ! What a furor would the reading 
of such a document excite ! and this too, from harsh 
lips, used to cry, " Let go and haul ! pull on the oar I 
look out for a storm ! " How soon would the terror- 

277 



,8 PREACHING FOR TBE TIMES. 

stricken gods leap from their pedestals ? How soon 
would Plato and Aristotle seek the shade, and blush 
and bow before the unlettered Galilean ? How soon 
would the Pantheon be turned into a Cathedral ? and 
the whole Roman Empire turned upside down? It 
may be affirmed " that those times demanded earnest 
preaching, for they were less refined than ours." I ask 
what times do not demand it ? Nature is the same in 
all times. And when in New England, in the face of 
these giant-growing sins, was more vehement preaching 
ever demanded ? As to the refinement of those times, 
remember that Christianity was introduced into the 
Roman empire in an Augustian age of literature, an 
age of superior learning. And the sages of those 
times we call masters, and their works are the text- 
books for our diplomas. And the same preaching now 
will have the same effect as then. And the world is to 
be Christianized by such preaching, if Christianized 
at all. 

3. Object and Language of Preaching. — The apostles 
had but one motive, one object, and one aim ; and that 
was the conversion of sinners. If that were attained 
by preaching, they gave God the glory ; and if by their 
suffering and death, they rejoiced to be counted worthy 
to die. In perils by sea, in perils by land, perils in the 
city, and perUs in the wilderness, perils by robbers, and 
perils by false brethren, in weariness and painful ness, 
watchings and fastings, hunger and thirst, cold and 
nakedness, in deliverance or death — they were 
alike invincible. Such were the first preachers of 
Christianity. In language they were untTammeled 
with the technicalities and dialectics of the schools, the 

278 



PREACHING FOR THE TIMES. 9 

prolific source of so many deists and atheists of oiir 
day; but coming direct from the people, their sympa- 
thies were with the people, their language was simple, 
earnest, vehement, and overwhelming. Goldsmith 
says of Dr. Johnson, if he were to write a fable about 
the fishes, he would make the little fishes talk like 
great whales. And Macaulay affirms that " All the 
doctor's books are wjitten in a learned language, 
which nobody hears from his mother, or his nurse ; a 
language in which nobody ever quarrels, or drives a 
bargain, or makes love ; a language in which nobody 
ever thinks or dreams ! " And here is the great fault 
of modern preaching. Its language is from books, 
not men. Religion is a social principle, entering into 
all the affairs of life, and should be preached in a social 
manner. The very name of homily, once meant a 
social discourse. Religion should be preached in 
naturalness. We are natural in every thing else but 
preaching. Away with your multitude of " firstly, 
secondly, thirdly," and forty other arbitrary divisions, 
subdivisions, and sub-sub-divisions. They are not 
allowed in other oratory, and by whose authority 
are they inflicted on the pulpit? By preachers, not 
by the people. The people demand social colloquial 
preaching ; such as Jesus delivered in parables by the 
sea-side ; when preaching about sheep, fishes, and 
harvest fields. Such was the preaching of Paul, when 
he preached all night at Troas. Such was the 
preaching of the golden-mouthed Chrysostom, when 
receiving vociferous applause from the audience. But 
now even a loud " amen " in our sleepy times, would 
start dignity from his boots, and shock a fashionable 
audience like an earthquake. Origen, who first intro- 

* 279 



10 PREACHING FOR THE TIMES. 

duced metaphysical subtilties, also introduced dan- 
gerous heresies. And in the present day, dogmatic 
theology and mechanical preaching are making more 
infidels than all the infidel writers in Christendom. 
The Bible has been belied by its pretended defenders. 
O ye followers of the fishermen I Infidelity laughs at 
your sham fighting, your blank cartridges, and paper 
bullets. She mocks your fastidit)us folly in cushioning 
the hammer, covering the sword, veiling the pit, and 
stupefying the nostrils with metaphysical essences, to 
prevent the smell of brimstone. She derides your 
mock dignity in standing above the stature of common 
men. Come down from your scholastic stilts and walk 
like men. Doff your formal strait-jacket before your 
audience is congealed into an iceberg. Away with 
your essences and quintessences, and give your hungry 
people bread. Throw off the cumbrous armor of 
Saul, and choose the pebble-stones and the sling. 
Cry out, " Fire ! fire ' fire I " like a faithful watchman 
when the city is in danger. Not " Ig-nis ! ignis ! ignis ! 
fuge irce Dei Tonitrus ! " But " Fire ! fire ! flee the 
thunders of God's wrath." Let your words be simple. 
Some of the strongest expressions in language are 
composed of monosyllables. " God said let there be 
light : and there was light " — is one of them. Sanc- 
timonious dignity would say, " The Omnipotent 
commanded ; and forthwith corruscations of effulgence 
descended upon the sable brow of Erebus." O super- 
cilious pomposity ! Presume, O Professor Bubble, to 
teach language to the Almighty ! God's word is yea, 
nay, and amen. Jesus Christ could use satire. Con- 
cerning Herod, who was threatening his life, he said, 
" Go ye and tell that fox, Behold I cast out devils to-day 

280 



PREACHING FOR THE TIMES. 11 

and to-morrow, and cannot perish out of Jerusalem." 
Elijah could mock the priests of Baal, and say, " Cry- 
aloud , for he is a god : either he is talking, or he is pur- 
suing, or he is in a journey, or peradventure he sleepeth, 
and must be awaked." John the Baptist said to the 
proud Pharisee and Sadducee, " O generation of vipers, 
who hath warned you to flee from the wrath to come?" 
Peter said to them, " Ye have killed the Prince of life." 
He call them murderers to their face. Paul could be 
all things to all men with a language suited to the 
meanest capacity. But we, forsooth, to silence the 
batteries of hell, must flee from common language, 
and flee from common men, and fortifying ourselves 
behind the pulpit, we must give out orders in Latin, 
exercise in buckram, and fight with puff* balls I 

4. Need of Change. — Thus we contrast with the 
preaching of our fathers and the apostles. What but 
a thorough change can meet the exigencies of the case ? 
Infidelity assumes new forms, erecting new batteries in 
our very midst, yet we must meet them with old stereo- 
typed, man-made tactics, and sheathing the blunt blade 
of God's eternal truth, fight with split hairs, peacocks' 
quills, and ostrich feathers. Intemperance grows gigan- 
tic, unmet by either law or gospel. Maine Laws are 
but cobwebs, and pulpit essays but gossamer ; yet they 
tell us " there is no need of change." " Is there not a 
cause ? " said David when the Philistines threatened Is- 
rael with total overthrow, with none to meet the giant ; 
and is there not a " cause " for a change of warfare in our 
Israel ? a cause for simpler weapons, and for a stronger 
arm of faith ? Walk ye down these s-treets where In- 
famy holds her diabolical reign ; Debauchery her gilded 

281 



12 PREACHING FOR THE TIMES. 

chambers of death ; Intemperance her hell ; Blasphemy 
her orgies ; Incendiarism her midnight torch ; and Mur- 
der her drawn dagger, checked neither by Church nor 
State ; then tell me there is not a cause ! Tell me that 
a gospel able to save to the uttermost, the odds and 
ends of earth, the lowest of the low, cannot be made 
to bear in their case ! Tell me that a gospel which in 
olden times could overturn Roman prostitution, Roman 
laws, customs, philosophy, government, and all, cannot 
now avail with law and government in its favor I " Oh, 
Tell it not in Gath, publish it not in the streets of As- 
kelon ; lest the Philistines rejoice, lest the uncircum- 
cised triumph." I ask if all the harlots and inebriates 
were to reform to-day, how many churches of this city 
would welcome them on a level with themselves ? Hov^r 
many would receive them, and, Christ-like, have it said, 
" He eateth with them ? " How many would present 
a gospel they could understand ? How many to reform 
a drunken sailor would welcome him to their velvet 
cushions and millionary pews? How many of the 
preachers have time to visit these outcasts ? And if 
they should, how many are competent to sympathize 
with the mourning, and bind up the broken hearted ? 

5. Methodists. — Shades of the Wesleys I Fathers of 
Methodism ! Where now your ancient glory ? Tomb 
of Whitefield ! Shrine of the brave I Where that 
voice that once shook the world ? Oh, stir your vener- 
able bones ! rouse your hallowed dust ; and from your 
sacred ashes let there rise the phoenix of a new refor- 
mation. And ye fathers of American Methodism! 
Ye once despised Methodists ! ye whose names were 
cast out as evil ! ye graduates from Nature's own uni- 

282 



PREACHING FOR THE TIMES. 13 

versity — from kitchens, schoolhouses, camp-meetings, 
and barns. Ye whose diplomas were wi'itten with the 
finger of God ; and whose only criterion was success I 
Look down from your glorified seats, upon us your 
children. Bow your reverend heads and weep, if im- 
mortals can weep, over our condition. Look upon the 
heritage ye have left us. Where the example ye have 
taught us? Where the followers ye may call your 
children ? Where that untiring zeal which drove you 
through all weather, all reproach, all sacrifice of body 
and soul, for Christ ? Where that zeal for the conver- 
sion of sinners, which rejoiced with joy unspeakable at 
their coming home to God ; which considered every 
sermon ' a failure without immediate results ? a zeal 
that cries, " Give me souls else I die ! " Where that 
sympathy for the poor ? that Christ-like compassion for 
them which made many a multitude rise up and call 
you blessed ? Where that apostolic success which 
broke forth on the right hand and on the left ? which 
made the wilderness and solitary places to be glad, 
and the desert to rejoice and blossom as the rose? 
Where those Boanerges thundering along the line, 
breaking the ranks, and scattering the foes of God? 
Where those loud shouts that made many a Jericho 
fall, and many an enemy cry out, " It is the power of 
God ? " Where that unconquerable faith which took 
no denial; which laughed at impossibilities; which 
looked for great results, expected great results, and 
had great results ? Alas ! alas I " How are the mighty 
fallen, and the weapons of war perished." Alas ! 
" The bow that turned not back, and the shield of the 
mighty are vilely cast away." Oh, what a falling off 
is hiere I And why is this ? Is sin less abounding ? 

B 283 



14r PREACHING FOR THE TIMES. 

Are the poor less needy of the gospel ? Is a world 
lying in wickedness now more easily converted ? Is 
there no need of the burning exhortations of our fath- 
ers ? Is there no need of watchmen that will cry aloud ; 
lift up their voice like a trumpet, and show my people 
their transgressions, and the house of Jacob their sins ? 
Has human nature changed, that men must be con- 
verted by other means than preaching ? Shall sinners 
go unwarned to hell ? Hear it, Almighty God I Shall 
they people the regions of dark despair without one 
inviting voice ? No I no ! by yonder Common, where 
Jesse Lee preached ; by yonder Old Elm, whose umbra- 
geous boughs overshadowed the first Methodism of this 
metropolis, no I by the tomb at Newburyport, it shall 
not be I no, so long as Whitefield's bones remain in 
glorious repose upon our shore, our text shall yet ring 
in the castle walls of infidelity, and the ungodly shall 
hear it ; " He that believeth not, shall be damned." Not 
condemned merely, as some would have it, but damned, 
eternally damned in hell fire ! Alas, how few dare to 
preach the doctrines of their creed I 

6. Modern Wliitefields. — A certain divine stated to 
me his reasons for this spiritual dearth, in New Eng- 
land. He said that he thought there had been too 
much preaching, and too great preaching ; there were 
so many Whitefields now-a-days, that their preaching 
ceased to have the effect of early times. Oh, wonder- 
ful age of Whitefields this I I ask, who among the 
modern Whitefields preaches from seven to fourteen 
times a week, and when preaching six or nine times, 
considers it short allowance ? Who, with deep emo- 
tion before every audience, speaks. 

284 



PREACHING FOR THE TIMES. 15 

" As if he ne'er might preach again, 
A dying man to dying men." 

Who, in agony of soul, and strong cries and tears, feels 
the destiny of immortal souls hung upon the efforts of 
every moment, either for heaven or hell ? Who feels 
his knees trembling, his veins swollen ready to burst, 
his heart bursting with grief, and his eyes a fountain 
of tears while praying, " Father, if it be possible, let 
this cup pass from me ; " and still feeling, " Wo is unto 
me, if I preach not the gospel " ? Who sacrifices all 
for Christ — home, friends, ease, wealth, reputation? 
Who goes from house to house, and from town to 
town, like a blazing comet, preaching at all hours, in 
all places, and in all weather, and giving every dollar 
for Christ! O ye modern Wliitefields ! Ye who use 
your voice only one day in seven, and always harp, 
harp, harp on the same key, never exerting more than 
one muscle, and that the tonsil of the throat, killing 
yourself, and, if possible, killing your audience deader 
than yourself I Great indeed are your labors, and gi'eat 
your sacrifice I Ye have distress it is true, but it is a 
bronchial affection ; and ye have deep-seated agony, 
but it is in the constipation of the digestive organs^ rather 
than the soul ! 

7. Is there no Remedy ? — O America I has it come 
to this ? Shall science advance with railroad and tel- 
egraphic speed, and preaching retrograde ? Shall infi- 
delity triumph on Puritan soil ? Shall its blights and 
blasts and mildew hang over us like the plagues of 
Egypt ? Shall its pitchy cloud of locusts, eat up every 
green thing, with no rod of Moses to drive them into 
the sea ? Shall it part the sacred ties of husband and 

285 



16 PREACHING FOR THE TIMES. 

wife, desti-oy the confidence of society, desecrate the 
Sabbath, tear down our altars, break up our Sabbath 
schools, undermine the pulpit, trample upon the Bible, 
blaspheme the Holy Trinity, break over all law, all order, 
disorganize all government, throw off all responsibility 
to God, fill the retreats with spiritual maniacs, trans- 
forming men into hobgoblins, pale, walking, melan- 
choly ghosts, shapes jostling together like icebergs, 
crushing every hope, whose tempers are as touchy as 
friction, jealous as fiends, and morose as the damned? 
Shall these pall-bearers, leading the van of all evils, 
open the box of Pandora, the floodgates of hell, and 
send streams of infernal lava in every circle, to every 
fireside, with no prophet to cry against it ? Shall the 
giants of Gath with shield and spear, and loud men- 
acing, blaspheme and defy Israel's God, with no David 
and sling to meet them ? Shall the ark, the covenant 
of all our hopes, and promises for earth and heaven, fall 
into their hands, with no Eli to mourn its loss ? Shall 
this spiritual famine continue, with no Carmelite Elijah 
to pray for rain ? While the walls of Zion are crum- 
bling, and the mason work of our hopes is washing 
away, shall we still daub with untempered mortar? 
While the dead and dying are lying around us, can 
we find no balm in Gilead ? Hark ! the sound of 
conflict is heard! The battle is already begun; the 
enemy have sounded the charge with the voice of the 
trumpet ; and shall we flee to our tents, fold our arms, 
and cry " Peace, peace " when there is no peace ? God 
of Sabbaoth forbid I No ! no I the foes of God shall 
hear a rumor ; the coming of a blast is upon them ; the 
wing of the death angel is heard ; there is a sound of a 
going in the tops of the mulben-y-trees ! God with a 

28& 



PREACHING FOR THE TIMES. 17 

shout, is in our camp ! The Dagon of infidelity, shall 
fall before the ark of the Lord. Through the long 
night of our past experience, Gideon's torches now 
blaze the sky, and shouts go up " The sword of the 
Lord and of Gideon I " The Midianitish hosts shall 
tremble at the boldness of the faithful. Already their 
swords, are turned against their fellows. To the spoils, 
to the spoils I O Israel I Sound the battle I On I on 
to the charge I The race is not to the swift, nor the 
battle to the strong ; for one shall chase a thousand, 
and two put ten thousand to flight. Awake I Awake ! 
New England ? Arise and shiq,e, for thy light has 
come ; and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee. 

8. Demosthenes. — Could Demosthenes and Cicero 
have had the themes of the pulpit for their oratory, 
what models of eloquence might have come down to 
us ? And what would be their indignation, could they 
see the cold, lifeless essayists now occupying our pul- 
pits, with false dignity striving — 

" The parts of a hair to divide 
Betwixt the north and north-west side," 

when the interest of immortal souls, destined for an 
eternity of pleasure or pain, are hung upon their ef- 
forts — an interest which the angels of God are more 
concerned in, than in the fate of empires, — an interest 
which robbed heaven of its high occupant and brought 
the Son of God to earth, a man of sorrows and ac- 
quainted with grief, — an interest which grasped the 
world's iniquities, and with ten thousand deaths 
pierced him to the tree ; brought upon him the con- 
centrated agonies of all ages, all pains, all penalties, 

B* 287 



18 PREACHING FOR THE TIMES. 

for all time, and eternity ; that made the earth quake, 
rocks rend, graves open, heaven frown, angels weep, 
hell shudder, and even the Father to hide his face, 
when justice dropped her unpitying thunder-bolts upon 
the son of his love, — an interest which spans three 
worlds, earth, heaven, and hell, — an interest so deep 
in the hearts of angels, that while they pass over the 
consultations of courts, cabinets, and kingdoms, and 
the overturning of thrones and dynasties, in their high 
commission, they settle down in some obscure prayer 
circle, and there finding a penitent Lazarus, bind up 
his wounded spirit, pouring in the oil of joy for mourn- 
ing, and presenting him the white stone, with a new 
name written in it, which shall be his password at the 
gates of heaven. These messengers of mercy, then 
carrying the glorious news back to heaven, make all 
the angels of God rejoice over one sinnner that re- 
penteth. They are more interested in a sinner's wel- 
fare, than for an empire, because the soul is immortal, 
and its kingdom, which is to be won or lost, eternal. 
It shall reign in heaven, or wail in hell, when the em- 
pires of Alexander and Napoleon are sunk like a mill- 
stone into the sea of oblivion ; and when our beloved 
America, grown gi'ay with years, and corrupt with the 
political vampires now at her vitals, shall have per- 
formed her mission among the nations, and found her 
tomb ; and when the world itself is dissolved like the 
" baseless fabric of a dream," and the stars are fallen 
" even as a fig-tree casteth her untimely figs, when 
she is shaken of a mighty wind," and the sun, and sys- 
tems of suns are all blotted out ; " and the heaven is 
departed, as a scroll when it is folded together, and 
passed away with a great noise, and the elements have 

283 



PREACHING FOR THE TIMES. 19 

melted with fervent heat." Then shall the soul, secure in 
its own immortality, smile at the " wreck of matter, and 
the crush of worlds." Could Demosthenes have had 
the themes of the atonement for his orations, embrac- 
ing all worlds, all intelligences, all interests, present, 
past, and future, — and could he pour into them the 
self-sacrificing spirit, the courage, energy, and vehe- 
mence, which pervades his Philippics, what models of 
eloquence might have been ours ! Then, could he see 
with what indifference these themes are handled by 
modern divines, how lifeless, and tearless their efforts 
in the face of the most appalling infidelity, and enor- 
mous sins, he would swear by the gods that they were 
bribed by Philip ; or affirm as a Christian, that they 
were leagued with the Devil. 

9. The Conflict. — How long, O Lord, shall these 
things be ? How long shall the broken-down walls 
of Zion lie desolate ? How long shall the wicked 
triumph? How long shall the watchmen sleep? How 
long shall the dry bones of backslidden churches, 
"very many and very dry," fill the valleys and whiten 
the plains, with no trumpet to sound a resurrection, 
and no prophet to call breath upon them ? I behold 
a vast multitude before me. What meaneth this gath- 
ering but the coming together of bone to its bone, at 
the call of God's spirit ? What meaneth the heaving 
of these sighs, these deep, suppressed groans, struggling 
with the travail of your pent-up spirit, but the rattling 
power of the resurrection ? What meaneth the gush 
of these tears that thread your cheeks, this net-work 
of tender hearts, but the sinews that bind bone to 
its bone? What mean these gifts, these generous 

289 



20 PREACHING FOR THE TIMES. 

contributions, these benevolent offerings, but the flesh 
that covers the dry bones of your profession ? What 
meaneth the burden of these prayers going up as in- 
cense before God, but the skin that hideth your good 
works beneath the sovereignty of Heaven ? But shall 
this be all ? Can these dry bones live ? Shall there 
be no breath of faith ? Shall you come together in 
vain ? give in vain ? weep in vain ? pray in vain ? Shall 
we see the beauty of form only, — the fair countenance, 
the lovely eye, yet eyes that see not, ears that hear not, 
and hearts that beat not, with no breath in them? 
Then come from the four winds, O breath, and let 
these bones live ? O Breath ! breathe upon these 
slain ! Bid them rise, and stand upon their feet, a 
mighty army, terrible with banners, filling the valleys, 
covering the hills I and led on by the Captain of our 
salvation, and by the chariots of God, which are twenty 
thousand, even thousands of angels, they shall charge 
the principalities of hell ! rout the powers of darkness I 
pull down the pillars of infidelity I storm the castles 
of impiety ! and with he torch of God's fiery indigna- 
tion, entering the pandemoneum of iniquity, shall burn 
the palaces of her lusts to the lowest hell. Then, on 
to the strife I Why stand ye idle ? Why wait for a 
more convenient season? Why close your eyes to 
danger ? Why fold your arms with indifference ? Why 
stand in stupidity ? Why gaze in astonishment? Why 
stare like dumb brutes when religion is assailed and 
God is blasphemed ? Hark ! the chariots of God are 
now raging ! they leap upon the top of the mountains ! 
His coursers cry ha I ha ! at the sound of the trumpet 
and the thunder of the battle. Then, on to the strife ! 
I see you blush at your former stupidity: you are 

290 



PREACHING FOR THE TIMES. 21 

ashamed of your indifference ; you weep at your little 
faith. But now you scorn the foe. Already I see a 
thousand eyes flash with victory ; a thousand hearts 
beat to the tread of battle ; a thousand hands grasp 
the sword of God's eternal truth ; and a thousand spirit 
voices shout, to arms ! to arms ! victory ! victory I until 
the kingdoms of this world become the kingdoms of 
our Lord and his Christ, and he shall reign forever and 
ever ! 

PART SECOND. 

10. Now for the Doctrine. — " He that believeth shall 
be saved ; and he that believeth not, shall be damned." 
I have not come among you to preach politics, but faith 
in Jesus Christ. And I am determined to know noth- 
ing among you save Jesus Christ, and him crucified. 
I shall not preach upon the much-mooted subject of 
slavery, bad as slavery is — for I know its evils ; I have 
witnessed them in almost every Slave State ; yet I know 
of worse evils, and nearer home. As a missionary of 
God, from State to State, for several years, I have 
walked down the abodes of poverty and imprisonment. 
And there, among the forsaken, the forgotten, and the 
unforgiven, I have fathomed the abyss of their sorrow, 
have taken a measurement of their woes, and a dimen- 
sion of their crimes ; and have found the great source 
of all their misfortunes to be the rejection of the prin- 
ciples of the Bible. Unbelief in the all-seeing eye of 
God, unbelief in his judgments, and the atonement 
of his Son, hath wrought their ruin. Hear me ye im- 
prisoned apostles ! hear me ye martyrs ! who went from 
chains and imprisonment, bonds and afflictions, up to 

291 



22 PREACHING FOR THE TIMES. 

glory! I would rather be, for my enjoyment here, and 
hopes of heaven, the meanest, cringing slave of Georgia, 
hard fed, hard driven, bought and sold, mauled and 
maimed, than the proudest infidel that ever shrieked 
freedom this side of hell I O infidelity I thou curse of 
curses, bane of banes I thou death of life, and bane 
of death ; thou despair of the tomb, gloom of the grave, 
and barrier of heaven! What hearts hast thou not 
broken! what graves hast thou not dug! what dun- 
geons hast thou not peopled ! and what souls hast thou 
not damned! Thou mother of abominations! flood- 
gate of crimes ! porti'ess of hell ! great deep of damna- 
tion ! bottomless pit of all that is grovelling, sensual, 
devilish, malignant, infernal ! rather than bow to thy 
shrine, I would be the sport of folly, the wreck of for- 
tune, the target of devils ; be chained, racked, tortured, 
burned, maligned after death, and have my very ashes 
traduced as a malefactor. Bad as the Catholic Church 
may be called, it is better to believe too much than 
nothing at all. I would rather have the faith of an 
Irishman than an Infidel. I would rather be like 
the Paddy, under conviction, in a Protestant meeting, 
when the minister asked him why he kept praying to 
the Virgin and to the saints. " O Misther praste," 
said he, " I ba sich a grate saner, it would same as if 
that Jasus couldth not save ma alone, and may be the 
saints might help a latle." Well may we say that 
even such faith is better than no faith no faith at all. 



" Ah me ! the laurel wreath that murder wears, 
Blood-stained, and nursed with widows' tears, 
Is not so noxious, half so dread 
As wreaths of nightshade round the sceptic's head." 
292 



PREACHING FOR THE TIMES. 23 

Ah, sir, he, and he only, that believeth shall be saved, 
be his sins few or many, venial or heinous. But it was 
not in the power of Christ, the Omnipotent God, to per- 
form miracles against unbelief. This is the only barrier 
against the salvation of the world. And among all the 
sins and crimes that ever darkened judgment, black- 
ened the book of doomsday, or savored of the pit, 
counted in numbers or magnitude, this is the only one 
that transcends the power of the atonement. It is the 
blasphemy which shall not be forgiven in this world, 
neither in the world to come I Come, thou vilest wretch 
that ever breathed, with debauchery festooned upon thy 
face, murder in thy heart, blood on thy hands, a drop 
beneath thy feet, and a halter on thy neck, believe, and 
thou shalt be saved I Come, thou dying thief, hung by 
a nail, one foot in hell, fiends at thy feet gnashing for 
thy soul, and winged shadows of the death angel com- 
ing and going from thy dizzy brain, turn, in one of thy 
lucid moments, turn to Jesus, look and live ! Come, 
thou malicious spearman, whose bloody hands pierced 
the Son of God, and with the sanguine current still 
staining thy flesh, believe in the power of that blood, 
and thou shalt live I Come, mockers ! come, scorners I 
come swearers and harlots and whoremongers I come 
all, all but thee, O unbeliever! barred, forever barred 
are the gates of heaven to thee ! Thou who dost deify 
thy morality, and, with all thy heart's rottenness, mak- 
est thyself an angel of purity, thou who wouldst " sit 
upon the sides of the north, ascend above the heights 
of the clouds, exalt thy throne above the stars, and be 
like the Most High, thou shalt go to hell, and to the 
sides of the pit." 



24 PREACHING FOR THE TIMES. 

11. Doom of the infidel. — O thou who livest in the 
noontide of Christianity, and in the Eden of its habi- 
tations ; — thou who art surrounded with Puritan altars, 
Puritan prayers, Puritan hills, every tree and leaf of 
which is labelled with Bible truths, truths attested by 
the accumulated testimony of eighteen hundred years, 
and by ten thousand times ten thousand dying saints ; 
— thou who canst trample upon the promises ancj threat- 
enings of God in the face of such testimony, and in 
the face of that convicting Spirit, now witnessing with 
thy spirit that his word is true, what hell is deep 
enough for thy sins ? It shall be more tolerable for 
Sodom and GomoiTah, in the day of judgment, than 
for thee ; though, as St. Jude declares, they are now 
suffering the vengeance of eternal fire. They had but 
one preacher, and he a venial man, yet they have 
already suffered four thousand years ! and still it shall 
be more tolerable for them than for thee ! Hear it, O 
unbeliever! In sealing thy judgment, the time, place, 
and circumstance of thy sinning will be considered ; 
and when and where couldst thou oppose greater light 
than in this the nineteenth century, and in New Eng- 
land ? Oh ! it shall be said to thee, " Depart, ye work- 
ers of iniquity ! ye knew your duty, and ye did it not. 
I gave you space to repent, and ye repented not. Give 
unto him double ; reward him as he hath rewarded 
me — double for double. The unbelieving shall have 
their part in the lake which burneth with fire and 
brimstone, which is the second death. Down, ye, to 
the nethermost hell ! Down, beyond the fate of Ad- 
mah and Zeboim ; beyond the Jewish high priests of 
iniquity ; beyond the murderers of Christ ; beyond the 
deep-down cell of Judas ; down, down ! " — there is no 

291 



PREACHING FOR THE TIMES. 25 

bottom. Ah, sir, methinks I hear you cry ; " oh that 
I had a cloak for my sin ! oh that I had lived in 
some dark age of the world; some barbarous clime; 
some island shore ! Oh that I had been the mean- 
est, untaught slave ! Alas ! alas ! for me. Oh, pity 
me ye stars I ye shall no more beam hope to me I Fare- 
well hope! farewell mercy! farewell heaven! Make 
way for me ye ebon sons of bondage ! make way 
for me ye sons of Korah ! make way for me ye Zido- 
nians and inhabitants of the dark ages. I knew my 
duty, but I did it not. O ye Ninevites I ye are as far 
above me as heaven from hell. Ye had but one ser- 
mon, and I a thousand; and still I repented not. Oh 
that I could kneel at a mother's feet, and hear once 
more a mother's prayer ! Oh, could I hear once more 
the inviting voice, ' Come, ye sinners, come ! ' oh, 
could I see that bleeding side once more, and feel its 
blood applied ! Oh that I had believed ! Alas I I did 
believe in part, but chose rather with half the testimony 
to believe a lie. But now my fate is fixed. I am a 
chained culprit, borne down to the prison-house of woe. 
O ye damned of other ages and of other climes ! be- 
fore your dark abodes I pass, I pass you all. I see 
written over your cells the age and nation in which ye 
lived ; but none suits my case. Deeper, far deeper is 
my doom. O ye antediluvians, I pass your doleful 
regions ! and ye Galileans, upon whom the tower of 
Siloam fell ; O ye of Chorazin and Bethsaida, I pass 
as far below you as from the ' centre to the utmost 
pole.' Make way for me ye Sodomites! clear the 
burning track for a sinner of the nineteenth century ! 
Open the gap of flames for a Bible-reading, Puritanic 
infidel of free America ! Oh, hush your groans, ye of 

C 295 



26 PREACHING FOR THE TIMES. 

Gomorrah ; silence your sobs to the sound of greater 
agonies. Far down I see there, with smoking mouth, 
beneath a burning crag, dropping pitchy sulphur, hot 
with hell, a cave ; and over it written, ' Infidels and back- 
sliders of the nineteenth century from New England.^ 
There, there is my doom ! There comes a harmony 
of feeling to my soul. Hail, thou infernal den ! hail, 
ye grim-visaged shapes, mouthing my woe, and gibing 
my agony I Hail, horrors, hail! and ye deep-down 
dungeon cells, ye reverberating, circumambient walls, 
sounding my wailings, '• echo with me the everlasting 
GROANS, unpitied, unreprieved, unrespited ages of hope- 
less end I ' " — O my God I am I out of hell ? Do I yet 
breathe this buoyant air ? Doth this heart beat with 
the current of life ? Am I still standing on the shores 
of time ? Is this brain tortured only in imagination ? 
Do I see human faces before me, or are they gibbering 
shapes, mocking my calamity ? Are these glimmering 
lights where hope may be found ? May prayer yet 
avail ? May I yet believe and be saved ? Hear me, 
O thou bleeding Son of God ! if, — 

" While the lamp holds out to bum, 
The vilest sinner may return," 

hear me, and save me from this untoward generation ! 
oh, save me from this vile heart of unbelief ! 

12. To whom shall the gospel be preached? — " Go 
ye into all the world and preach the gospel to every 
creature." Judging by the splendid churches, fancy 
ornaments, and cushioned pews of our times, we must 
preach most, where they pay most, and of course 
preach very soft doctrines. These rich Pharisees hold- 

296 



PREACHING FOR THE TIMES. 27 

ing the chief seats in the synagogue will cool off 
amazingly ! a preacher's zeal for strong doctrine ! and 
for the poor ! " Woe to the shepherds that feed them- 
selves, and not the flock, that feed upon the fat, and 
are clothed with the wool. Ye have not brought back 
them that were lost, and the diseased ye have not 
strengthened." To whom then are we to preach of- 
fered mercy ? To thee O penitent ! whoever thou art, 
and however deep thy crime. Come, then, ye daugh- 
ters of affliction, and ye sons of adversity; your hearts 
are in tUne to hear His pardoning love ; He shall give 
you the " oil of joy for mourning, and the garment of 
praise for the spirit of heaviness I " Come ye from the 
dark cells of the prison ; *' He shall proclaim liberty to 
the captives, and the opening of the prison to them 
that are bound." Come ye from her " whose house is 
the way to hell, going down to the chambers of death ; " 
" Whosoever will, let him come ; whosoever believeth 
shall not perish ; and him that cometh to me, I will in 
no wise cast out." Hear it ye ! — " all the world, and 
every creature ! " ye vilest of the vile, lowest of the 
low, dregs from the surfeit of sin, ye sweep of the 
streets, ye filth and offscouring of the world, hear it! 
" he that believeth shall be saved ; " whosoever, ivhoso- 
ever, he may be ! Oh that glorious word " whosoever ! 
thine arm stretches from pole to pole I it reaches to the 
chiefest of sinners, it has found me. Come, then, ye 
publicans and sinners ; come ye adulterous Davids ; 
come ye blind, lecherous Samsons ; come, ye Rahab 
harlots; ye Mary Magdalenes, full of Satan, seven devils 
deep, " look unto me all ye ends of the earth, and be 
ye saved." Come, then, ye " ends of the earth ; " ye of 
the refuse of humanity, ye apostates from every moral 

297 



28 PREACHING FOR THE TIMES. 

sense, ye outcasts, ye footballs of contempt, kicked 
out of the backdoor of humanity, scorned and trod 
upon by the Devil himself, ye fag ends of the earth 
look ! look ! only look ! and be saved. Come, thou 
tottering, reeling, palsied wretch, staggering, falling 
backwards to the very " ends of the earth," rise, from 
the gutter, paw no more in the filth of the sewer, raise 
thy slimy hands towards heaven, part from thy brow, 
the matted locks, all thick with the gum -resin of the 
sulphur pit I wipe the bituminous film from thine eyes ; 
look ! look ! and even thou mayest be saved ! for God 
is able to save to the uttermost all that come unto 
him, through Jesus Christ ! What a glorious gospel is 
ours ! how omnipotent for the salvation of the whole 
world, and every creature, even to the uttermost, all 
that believe. 

13. The anxious inquirer. — " Oh that I knew where 
I might find him." Many of you now convicted of 
sin, like the Philippian jailer cry " what shall I do to be 
saved I " I hope to tell you so clearly, that hundreds 
this very night may leap into life ! It is the simplest 
thing in the world if ye only know how. Believe, be- 
lieve! and that only. Here lies the difficulty; you 
want to do some great thing, perform some crusade to 
Jerusalem, and lay your offerings at the tomb of Jesus, 
and win by noble deeds your own salvation. This 
you cannot do ; Jesus must have all the honor to him- 
self. Thy pride must come down, be humbled to the 
very dust. You say, " I am humble, my heart is 
broken, I shall die without religion, I would give all 
the world for it." All the world will not buy it ; if so, 
there would be no need of Christ. Christ was made 

298 



PREACHING FOR THE TIMES. 29 

sin for thee, who knew no sin ; then cast thy sin upon 
him. " But I am so great a sinner, I would not dare 
tell what I have done." Thou art just the sinner for 
Christ. They that are whole need no physician, but 
they that are sick. He came not to call the righteous 
but sinners. The greater sinner, the greater glory to 
Christ ; sin recommends thee to him. " Oh, if I could 
live my life again, I would do better, I would lead a 
new life." Nay, nay, thou wouldst do worse, nature 
grows worse ; but believe, and thy life becomes new. 
" But I have done nothing to win favor, and can do 
nothing." Do! do is not in the text: believe, is all. 
" But T cannot see through it ; I cannot believe, unless 
reason and philosophy lead the way." Then reason 
and philosophy must save you ; not faith. You can 
see that you are a sinner, and that Christ is able and 
willing to save you. You can see his bleeding side, 
and cast all your sins in the fountain of his blood, you 
can look only and live. " But I am so unworthy I 
would give all my goods to feed the poor;" yes 
you might, and your body to be burned, and still be 
damned. " O sir, you will drive me to despair I " Just 
what I want ; despair of being saved by works, " lest ye 
should boast." Where is boasting, then, it is. ex- 
cluded. By what law ? By the law of faith. " With- 
out faith it is impossible to please God." Believing, 
then, is all. One says, " Mine is a peculiar case ; I 
have rejected so many offers, made so many vows, and 
broken them, until I have grieved the spirit, and driven 
it forever from me." Yes, thou art worse than the 
Hottentot, or the Sodomite ; a condemned sinner of 
the deepest dye ; but David said — " Have mercy on 
me, O Lord, for mine iniquity is great." As if the 

299 



30 PKEACHING FOR THE TIMES. 

greatness of his sins, was his only recommend. So with 
thee, the magnitude and heinousness of thy crimes, 
will bring thee sooner to Christ. If they are pressing 
thee down to the pit, and driving thee to despair, the 
more anxious wilt thou flee. " Oh, then I will flee 
to Christ ! to-morrow I will go to some friend, some 
preacher, and try to find a Saviour." To-morrow I thou 
mayest be in hell ! Now is the accepted time, — not 
to-morrow, — behold now is the day of salvation. " Oh, 
if I could kneel at some consecrated altar, with praying 
saints around me." What then ? the altar cannot save 
you, nothing but faith in Christ. 

Now, how much do you believe ? You cannot doubt 
his ability to save, He, who made the world ; you can- 
not doubt his willingness, He, who died for thee. Then, 
if ever He were willing, it is now; — now, while the 
waters are troubled ; — now, while the wing of Mer- 
cy's angel is still flashing hope over thy countenance ; — 
now, while the Spirit is moving upon the face of the 
waters, upon this sea of upturned faces, and like a 
mighty rushing wind, heaving each bosom with thoughts 
of immortality ; — now, this very moment, without even 
falling upon thy knees, without stirring a finger, or 
speaking a word, or moving a lip. Look ! look ! look 
to Jesus and live I I have heard of a certain English 
gentleman who was convicted while passing the place 
where a humble company were praying. They had 
become so engaged, so lost in the will of God, so close 
in the fight that they used very short weapons. " Now, 
Lord!" was their cry, " now. Lord! now. Lord!" The 
gentleman was indignant at such noise and such lan- 
guage, and resolved on prosecution. He thought they 
were a nuisance to the neighborhood ; they were com- 

300 



PREACHING FOR THE TIMES. 31 

mitting horrid blasphemy. His anger raged still higher 
as " Now, Lord I " followed him home. Haman-like, 
however, he found no comfort in revealing his anger to 
his family. " Now, Lord ! " haunted his dreams, drove 
slumber from his eyes, and turned the morning into dark- 
ness. No morning meal could be relished, and no sol- 
ace from a kind wife could soothe his troubled spirit. 
" Now, Lord I " seemed his hell. Oh, the anguish of his 
soul I Where could he go for relief ? Now he felt he 
had too hastily condemned those poor praying saints. 
He would ask their forgiveness. He came and fell 
upon his knees. They prayed for him, but had not 
prayed long before they felt the appointed moment 
come ; and nothing was needed but to believe. " Now, 
Lord I " they cried, and he cried, " Amen ! " Soon it was 
his time to cry, " Now, Lord ! " Faith grasped the 
promises : he felt them his own. " Now, Lord, bless 
me, — poor, unworthy me. Now, Lord, I feel thee near. 
I do believe ; help thou my unbelief. Now, Lord, I 
will praise thee ; hallelujah! Glory to God!" Sin- 
ner ! Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good. Now 
believe on him ; now take the balm of his love for thy 
sin-sick soul ; now let go thy grasp on the trembling 
verge, and fall into the arms of his love ; now, chased 
by the blood avenger, flee! flee to the refuge; now, 
falling into the pit, lay hold of the hope set before thee ; 
now, starving as thou art, feed thy hungry soul with 
the bread of eternal life ; now, clothe thy nakedness 
with the robe of his righteousness ; now bathe thy 
black soul in the fountain of his blood ; now, hearing 
his dying groans, and seeing his bleeding side, look ! 
look ! look and live I 

SOI 



32 THE CHRISTIAN WARRIOR. 

BY REV. HENRY MORGAN. 

To your arms ! to your arms I 

ye warriors of heaven ; 
Sound the trumpet's alarms 

For the challenge is given ; 
There the foe rushes on ! 

And his forces are legion. 
Oh ! for God and his Son, 

Fight and die for religion. 

Seize the shield and the sword, 

And the helm of salvation ; 
As a hammer the word, 

As a rock hold your station. 
Now the shock ! oh the shock ! 

Heaven's thunders in rattle 
Smite the foe as a flock, 

And they're fleeing in battle. 

By a glance of the sword, 

Infidelity's retreating ; 
By the power of the word. 

Vice and crime are abating. 
Shout, hosanna to God ! 

For earth's kingdoms he gaineth, 
*' Hallelujah ! the Lord 

God Omnipotent reigneth." 

Rise ! ye wounded, arise ! 

For, though sad your condition, 
There's a balm for your eyes, 

And a heavenly physician. 
Rise and look ! look and live ! 

For your faith wins a heaven : 
"When you ask — He'll forgive. 

When believe — you're forgiven. 

Christians ! on to the fight ! 

For the prize is before you ; 
Let your armor be bright 

For the regions of glory. 
Oh, be shouting in death. 

When the victory's given, 
And your last fleeting breath 

Shall be singing of heaven. 



SERMON II. 

PREACHING TO THE POOR. 

Delivered in Boston Music Hall, March 6, 1859. 



The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed me to 
preach the gospel to the poor. — Luke, 4:18. 

1. These are the words of our Lord Jesus Christ, 
quoted from Isaiah concerning hinnself. He came to 
Nazareth where he had been brought up, and as his 
custom was, he went into the synagogue on the Sab- 
bath-day, and after reading the words of the prophet, 
said unto them, " This day is the Scripture fulfilled in 
your ears." Here is the sign of a true gospel minis- 
ter; he commences his mission by preaching to the 
poor. The reason assigned for his preaching the gos- 
pel to the poor is, because he is anointed of the Lord. 
He must, therefore, have the Spirit of the Lord upon 
him, for but few persons without this Spirit would 
seek so unprofitable an employment. This text shows 
the reason for a man's preaching, and a sign for his 
having a call to preach. His heart goes out in holy 
affection for the poor, and he longs for the salvation of 
the needy. He has the spirit of his Master who was 
rich, yet for our sakes became poor, that we through 
his poverty might be made rich. He has a self-sacri- 
ficing spirit ; and will humble himself that others may 
be exalted. He himself is generally poor, yet making 



34 PREACHING TO THE POOR. 

many rich. He binds up the broken-hearted, and seeks 
the outcast, and the lost. He feels himself sent 
to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. Whitefield 
and the Wesleys under God commenced their reforma- 
tion among the poor. The lamented Summerfield was 
converted among a few poor soldiers, and he made the 
forlorn and the outcast the first objects for his relig- 
ious labor. Dr. Chalmers and Rowland Hill opened 
the way for their glorious mission, and enlarged the 
mighty sphere of their usefulness by their noble efforts 
for the poor. The early Methodists of America were 
noted for their poverty, as well as for their holy living 
and their faith. Purity and poverty were twin sisters 
of Methodism. The Waldenses, inhabiting the val- 
leys of the Alps, who have held to the purity of the 
doctrines of God's word in spite of the persecutions 
of Rome, have ever been poor. " Blessed are the poor 
in spirit : for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." Jesus 
Christ made the poor the objects of his ministry, and 
the common people heard him gladly. When John 
the Baptist drew after him vast multitudes from Jeru- 
salem and all Judea, and all the region round about 
Jordan, the rich, proud Pharisees were the last to come 
to his baptism, and were the first to meet with cutting 
reproof. " O generation of vipers who hath warned 
you to flee from the wrath to come ? " When John 
sent his disciples to inquire whether Christ were he 
that should come ; Jesus answered, " Go and tell John 
that the poor have the gospel preached to them." This 
was a strong sign, for it was as unnatural for a Jewish 
teacher or a proud Pharisee to do it, as for many of the 
dignitaries of our times. Nevertheless, God will raise 
up men that will follow their Saviour among the 



PREACHING TO THE POOR. 35 

lowly, and preach the gospel to the poor. They are 
the most willing to hear the gospel ; but are unable to 
pay for its supi^ort. They are the most needy of its 
consolations ; yet are the most neglected. They have 
ever been the most willing to embrace it ; and yet are 
too often the last to be benefited. Where the gospel 
is set up for the highest bidder, they have no means to 
purchase. Where mammon rules the sanctuary of 
God, they have no voice in the government Where 
gold and glitter seem the highest objects of ambition, 
they cannot compete in the contest. Where metaphys- 
ical science and subtile dialectics are preached, they 
have no learning to comprehend them. They are long- 
ing for the strong meat of the word, and are treated 
with spices and essences. They hanker for the bread 
of life, and receive only chaff. They thirst for the 
wells of salvation, but fmd the ministerial fountain 
exceedingly " dry." The hungry sheep look up and are 
not fed. There is no use in talking of equal rights 
and the spiritual privileges of the poor, when they ai-e. 
treated as inferior beings in the sanctuary of God, and 
seem to be aUowed there only as an act of charity. 
So long as the churches are too nice for the worst of 
sinners, so long the poor will be deprived of the gospel. 
There is no use in saying that the poor have the gospel 
preached to them from that pulpit which far 

" Outshines the wealth of Ormus and of Ind, 
Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand * 
Show'rs on her kings barbaric pearl and gold." 

There, they have no wardrobe to compete with the 
fashion ; they are not treated as equals, and must oc- 
cupy some sequestered seat, as one who has no right 
there. The gospel is a mighty leveller; it places a 



36 PREACHING TO THE POOR. 

poor Lazarus in the bosom of a rich Abraham, with- 
out regard to either their riches or their poverty, but 
through the measure of their faith alone. I was 
amused at a circumstance that occurred in a town 
where I was recently preaching. There was, for once, 
in a meeting, so much life as actually to elicit many 
responsive "Amens.*' The deacon spoke, and then the 
other influential members, and all were responded to 
with a lively " Amen." At last a poor colored woman 
arose, and told her simple, unadorned story, which was 
very affecting, but it brought no responsive " Amen." 
Then suddenly arose a young man, whose enthusiasm 
surpassed his reverence for the elders of the church, 
and said, " When the rich and the learned speak we 
can say ' Amen ; ' but when a poor colored woman 
tells how good the Lord is, no man makes any reply ; 
but God Almighty hears it, and he says ' Amen,' and 
his angels say ' Amen,' and Jesus Christ says ' Amen,' 
and all the saints in heaven say ' Amen,' for the widow's 
offering is not lost in his sight, and he will maintain 
the cause of the afflicted, and defend the rights of the 
poor." And this is true; all God's hosts say "Amen" 
to the offerings of the poor. I ask, who of us obey the 
injunction of our Lord in making a feast. Who do 
not invite the rich, but the poor, the maimed, and the 
blind ? I imagine if such persons were to be the guests 
at our dinners, our feasts, like angel's visits, would be 
" few and far between." 

2. Blessings of Poverty. — Poverty, both temporal and 
spiritual, are blessings in disguise. Temporal poverty 
tends to wean us from the world, spiritual poverty to 
wean us from our sins. It seems necessary in the 



PREACHING TO THE POOR. 37 

providence of God to deprive us of worldly blessings, 
that we may obtain the heavenly ; to strike from be- 
neath us the prop of wealth, that we may lean upon 
the staff of religion. As colts need curbing, trees need 
grafting, and vines need bleeding, so does man need 
chastening, to bring him to God. He needs to be 
stripped of his pride and self-righteousness, that he 
may be clothed with the righteousness of Christ. He 
needs to be robbed of his earthly gains, that he may 
obtain the true riches. He needs to be bruised in the 
mortar of affliction, that he may be healed with the 
balm of Gilead. He needs to be broken by the ham- 
mer of conviction, that he may be melted and moulded 
in the image of God. " Whom the Lord loveth he 
chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiv- 
eth." — " No chastening for the present seemeth to be 
joyous, but grievous : nevertheless afterward it yieldeth 
the peaceable fruits of righteousness." Suffering is 
the lot of humanity ; it is an active principle in both 
the natural and moral world. The lamb that skips 
and plays to-day, is doomed to bleed for man to-mor- 
row. The fish in frolic with the finny tribe is caught 
for the food of man ; the dove, in its love caresses, is 
shot for the table of the epicure ; the bee is killed for 
its honey ; the pearl oyster dies to yield the pearl, and 
the silk-worm expires to adorn the beauty of some fair 
bride. Nature is full of suffering, and her well-springs 
are running over with sorrow. Humanity is taught to 
bleed with our common mother, and draw tears, as 
nourishment, from her bosom. We are taught to feed 
on affliction as our daily food, and drink anguish as a 
common cordial. We are tuned to mourning from 
infancy, and schooled in bereavement from childhood. 
4 



38 TREACHING TO THE POOR. 

The world is full of graves, they are thicker than the 
stars, anfl we tread upon them daily as trap-doors to 
the tomb. The stars are only lamps to the tomb, and 
the pale moon the last watcher of bereavement. The 
weeds of mourning cover the world as a garment, and 
the pall of death is more frequent than the shades of 
night. Yet suffering has its benefit. By the dissect- 
ing knife of faith, we may find a jewel in the ugly 
head of misfortune. Like the pearl-diver, we may dive 
down the waves of sorrow, and find a gem at the bot- 
tom of bereavement. Jesus Christ, the captain of our 
salvation, was perfected through suffering. As pounded 
spices emit the strongest odor, so does the bruised and 
wounded Christian savor most of heaven. As grapes 
yield their juice by bruising, flowers scent most when 
crushed, and juniper smells sweetest while burning, so 
does the saint emit the sweetest odors of heaven when 
most afflicted. " These light afflictions, which are but 
for a moment, work out for us a far more exceeding 
and eternal weight of glory." As silver is purified in 
a furnace of earth, and gold is tried in the fire, so is 
the saint purified by fiery trials. The sacrifices accept- 
able to God are, a broken spirit and a broken and con- 
trite heart. The Psalmist says, " Before I was afflicted 
I went astray, but now I have kept thy word." Hence 
we see that 

" We need affliction's rod 
To whip us back to God." 

When we forget God and engross our whole atten- 
tion with the world, affliction makes us let go of our 
grasp, and makes the world seem small in our sight. 
As genius sometimes soars highest from a pale and at- 
tenuated frame, so does the soul come nearest to heaven 



PREACHING TO THE POOR. 39 

when deprived of the things of earth. Then poverty, 
natural and spiritual, is the saint's boon. " Blessed be 
ye poor ; for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are 
the poor in spirit : for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. 
Blessed are they that mourn : for they shall be com- 
forted. Blessed are the meek : for they shall inherit 
the earth. Blessed are ye that hunger now : for ye 
shall be filled. Blessed are ye that weep now : for ye 
shall rejoice. Blessed are ye when men shall hate you, 
and reproach you, and cast out your name as evil. Re- 
joice ye : for great is your reward in heaven." — " Woe 
unto you that are rich : for ye have received your con- 
solation. Woe unto you that are full : for ye shall 
hunger. Woe unto you that laugh : for ye shall mourn 
and weep." — Then who are better fitted for the gospel 
than the poor ? Who are most needy ? Who receive 
the greatest consolation from the gospel? Who are 
intended by Christ to be most benefited by the gospel ? 
As bruised flesh feels soonest the balm, and hungry 
people best relish food, so does crushed and starving 
poverty receive first the gospel. Hence we see the 
importance of preaching the gospel to the poor. The 
preacher who will do it is God's chosen, and God will 
remember such when he makes up his jewels. And 
on earth there shall go up, from many a hut and hovel, 
a prayer for his prosperity ; and when the eye sees him, 
it shall bless him ; and when the ear hears him, it shall 
bear witness of his God-like deeds. I would rather 
have the prayers of God's poor saints to follow me in 
my walk, to comfort me in my sleep, and bless me in 
my dreams, than the greatest boon that all America could 
give me. The sweetest ecstasy that I was ever in, was 
when I was one thousand miles from my mother's 



40 PREACHING TO THE POOR. 

home, a stranger, and without a friend. My lungs had 
bled profusely and I was not allowed to speak. There 
as I lay upon my couch, imagination called up the 
scenes of my missionary labors. I thought of my labors 
in Boston the winter previous, the blessings that I had 
received from many a poor sailor, and many a widowed 
mother, and from the orphans, and boys of the Reform 
School. I thought of the letters that some of those boys 
had sent me, with many thanks and many blessings. 
I thought this to be my last sickness, and seemed to 
hear that text, — " Their works do follow them." I 
suppose it was imagination, but if it was a cheat, it 
was a glorious one ; I saw scores of little orphans 
dressed in white, as they are for an exhibition, and they 
came down, as from a cloud, and stood round my bed. 
Their little hands were raised, and they sang and 
clapped their hands. Their song was " Blessed be the 
dead that die in the Lord : come up hither, come up 
hither." Oh ! how unworthy I felt, and how ashamed 
that I had done so little for the cause of the poor. 
And now, while I condemn others for delinquency, let 
me take the chief part to myself, for I can see a hun- 
dred ways where I might have done more good, and 
been a hundred fold more faithful to my calling. 

3. Ministerial Delinquency. — I ask who of us volun- 
tarily make ourselves poor for Christ ? Who feels it 
his duty to go out into highways and hedges and com- 
pel them to come in ? Who make this a sign that 
they are sent of the Lord, they are poor and are preach- 
ing to the poor? Who put their sentimentalism, 
whined out before rich congregations, into practice, 
and go down personally, from house to house, among 



PREACHING TO THE POOR. 41 

the poor ? Who have any heart for such work ? 
Who, if they were compelled to do it for a living, 
would stay in the profession twenty-four hours ? Who 
like a faithful surgeon, takes the worst cases first ? 
Who rejoices more over the return of one lost sheep 
than the ninety and nine ? How many, all engrossed 
with the the politics and novelties of the day, have time 
to look up the lost sheep ? How many can leave the 
news office long enough to visit these outcasts ? How 
many could refuse the gas-light splendors of the rich 
parlor, and resist the charms of its luxury and music, 
to go down among the lowly ? Who could bend their 
dignity so much as to stoop to such characters ? Who 
could lower their pride so much as to be seen speaking 
with them in the street ? Who could doff the gown 
and slippers and the patent leathers and kid gloves and 
golden-headed canes, so as to come in contact with the 
inmates of the filthy cellar ? Who would be seen going 
in there ? And if he should, what heart, what sym- 
pathy, what compassion has he for them ? Who of 
us is schooled in language and experience for the work ? 
Who is competent to comfort the mourning, and who 
is willing to do it ? Let them who are, answer ; for 
them have I not offended. Then is it a wonder that 
the gospel has proved almost a failure ? Is it a won- 
der that it is the sport of infidels, when it retains the 
form only of religion but denies the power? And 
when its great fundamental principles are so palpably 
and pertinaciously violated, is it a wonder that crime 
increases, that jails are filled, that poorhouses are 
flooded, laws are broken, Maine Laws are but shadows, 
intemperance reels in the streets, houses are burned, men 

are murdered, and blear-eyed debauchery stalks abroad 

4* 



42 PREACHING TO THE POOR. 

in open daylight ? Is it to be wondered at, when the 
gospel is taken from its proper channels — taken from 
the poor, elevated on a pedestal of popularity, and 
made a mere myth of fancy for mammon worship ? 
Is it to be wondered at that reform schools are needed 
for every tenth poor boy of the city ? and that houses 
of correction are filled with the cyprian daughters ? Is 
it a wonder that the poor have no desire for a gospel 
that seems to have no sympathy for them ? Is it to be 
wondered at that the gospel reforms not where it is not 
applied, and regenerates not where it is not preached ? 
Then come down from thy pride, O thou man of God, 
— come down, like the Son of God, among the poor. 
Come down from your scholastic stilts, and learn a lan- 
guage from nature as well as books. See that book- 
worm, hardly able to leave his arm-chair, — hardly able 
to get out of his nest. He has studied so long that 
he has lost all independence of thought, and forgotten 
what of value he once knew. His body is weak, his 
health wasting, and he is dying for want of exercise. 
But exercise now becomes onerous, it crosses the grain, 
and it is easier to take a pill to help digestion than a 
fatigue sweat. So down goes the pill, and downward 
goes the health of the patient. How dark his mind I 
How dark seems the world to him ; and how shy he is 
of his parishioners, except it may be of a select few, to 
whom he may confidently unburden his grief, and tell 
them of the melancholy condition of this wicked world, 
and of a preacher's sad calling. They pity him ; and 
doctor him with a few more drugs, and he starts to 
make a long-neglected visit to the poor. He has no 
heart in the work, no hearty, joyous congratulations, 
no sympathy that wins their love. He smiles, but it is 



PREACHING TO THE POOR. 43 

a bland, artful mockery ; he speaks as if he would 
come down to their case ; but he only grinds out tones 
of sympathy like a hand-organ ; there is no heart in 
the business. If he prays, his mind is wandering far 
away ; and he has no concentration, and no faith that 
would bring an answer. He leaves with the sad 
thought, that a preacher's is a hard lot, and that such a 
forced visit does but little good. He has left a shade 
of melancholy and gloom behind him, and made relig- 
ion seem repulsive ; and now thinks that such a visit 
ought to have done good, because it cost so great a 
sacrifice ! 

4. Contrast. — Minister's Blessing. — Some will say, 
" Can any good come out of this visiting ? any 
good out of these low cellars, any good out of Naza- 
reth ? " I answer, " Come and see." Come, ye proud 
professors of religion, who have never known true hu- 
mility, meekness, and love. Come with me and learn 
a lesson from the poor. See how gladly they will 
receive the messenger of heaven ; how eagerly their 
hungry souls will feed on the words from his lips, and 
how grateful that they have been counted worthy for a 
saint of God to visit them? And if he be hungry, 
how glad to divide the last morsel with him, how 
thankful for his words of consolation, how ardent in 
joining in the prayer ; how tender their hearts when 
rising from the altar; how they seem to form new 
resolutions to serve God ; how they love their children 
more, their neighbors more, their Bible and Jesus 
more ! How they will weep at the parting ; how the 
tears will choke the utterance, as they say " Good-by." 
The gracious hour has seemed but a dream ; and the 



44 PREACHING TO THE POOR. 

occasion like an angel's visit. Their last words speak 
a thousand thanks, their last looks tell a flood of grati- 
tude, and their last prayer is for a thousand blessings 
on his head. Then come, my brother, and learn the 
luxury of doing good ; Oh, come and see that the 
Lord he is good to the poor. " Inasmuch as ye have 
done it unto the least of these ye have done it unto 
me." Oh, the glorious pleasure in preaching to the 
poor I Oh, the comforts of blessing the needy I Oh, 
the joy that echoes back to your own souls when ye 
have made others happy I And what health and com- 
fort a man must enjoy to have meet him in the streets, 
and by the wayside, and at every cottage door — the 
blessings of the Lord's poor. What a consolation to 
feel that their prayers are continually ascending for his 
prosperity I With such blessings all around him, with 
smiling countenances at every corner, and " God bless 
you " from every lip, a preacher must be cheerful ; and 
cheerfulness produces health, and health makes us 
iphysically happy, and happiness is a quality of our re- 
*ligion, and it is the perfection of heaven. Let us then 
be up to our duty ! Let us, like a mighty vessel, leave 
a wake behind us for the last boatman, and not like a 
snail, leave a slime on every thing we touch. " They 
that be wise, shall shine as the brightness of the firma- 
ment ; and they that turn many to righteousness, as 
the stars forever and ever." 

5. The National Worth of the Poor. — Despised as 
this class of persons may be considered, let us consider 
their worth to us as a nation and a church. I ask you 
who are the bone and sinew of our national labor ? 
Who pave the streets, build the aqueducts, erect the 



PREACHING TO THE POOR. 45 

fortifications, thread the land with railroads, and dot 
the whole earth with habitations of men ? Who 
build and work the mills, tend the spindles, guide the 
looms, and prepare the toil-stained goods for market I 
I may affirm that three-quarters of these children of 
toil are the poor. Who toils in the mechanic shop, 
tills our fields, opens our mines, transports our com- 
merce, and sets this nation all alive with industry ? 
Who are the great contributors to a nation's wealth ? 
Who develop its great resources ? Who give wealth 
to its trade, force to its enterprise, strength to its gov- 
ernment, vigor to its defence, and victory to its arms ? 
Who produce the food that we eat, the clothes that we 
wear, the conveyances in which we ride, and the 
houses in which we live ? Who, by their honest in- 
dustry, keep many of the lazy, listless, Christless pro- 
geny of the rich from starving to death ? Who would 
have the fittest grace to write over the tomb of many 
a drone of luxury, many a sluggard of wealth, and 
many a fashionable sleeper in the castle of Indolence 
the following appropriate epitaph : " Here lies the re- 
mains of Royal Dunciad Donothing. He was a child 
of fortune, though his father was an Amorite, and his 
mother was a Hittite. He was born with a silver- 
spoon in his mouth, was fed on a gold plate, fondled 
in the lap of luxury, and was taught that labor was 
vulgar, and fit only for the poor. He learned to strut 
before the glass, wasted his brains on patent leather 
and pomander, and died with nothing to do. He was 
born a cipher, lived a cipher, and died a cipher ; let a 
cipher be placed on the plate of his coffin, let a cipher 
stand on his monument, and let the clods cover him." 



46 PREACHING TO THE POOR. 

6. Worth to the Church. — I ask, who, in all ages, 
have been the most faithful to the church ? Who the 
self-denying, holy, earnest, praying laborers ? Who 
the general sustainers of those vitals of Christianity, 
the conference and prayer meetings ? Who are at 
their post in all weather, and though unseen by many 
of the rich, yet in their retired seat, watch every word 
that is said, and pray for every sentence that comes 
from the preacher's mouth ? Who have the most faith 
in prayer ? Who give the most simplicity and energy 
to religious exercises ? Whose prayers, more than any 
others, bring about those general awakenings ? The 
evils of sin afflict most the poor, and they call on God 
their only helper. Hence revivals start first among 
them. Whose prayers go up to the ears of the God 
of Sabbaoth from the low, damp cellar, or the comfort- 
less hovel, where sickness and want make human life 
a burden, until their despau' moves the God of pity, 
and he declares " I will arise for the oppression of the 
poor, and for the sighing of the needy ! " Who, trust- 
ing not in the world, have that undying faith, that un- 
wavering trust in God, that laughs at the precaution- 
ary schemes of human wisdom and worldly-mindedness, 
laughs at seeming impossibilities, and cries, in the 
name of God, "It shall be done." Who love the 
church most, and prize it above all oth,er objects ? 
Who feel that when father and mother forsake them 
the church will take them in, and be dearer to them 
than a mother. And when religion is unpopular, and 
vital piety persecuted, and rich men leave it, who stand 
by the cross ? When the rich Judases bearing the bag, 
sell out their consciences for a few pieces of silver, 
who still bathe the feet of their Saviour with tears? 



PREACHING TO THE POOR. 47 

Who are less encumbered with the world, and can 
come boldly, in broad daylight, to Jesus, while a rich 
Nicodemus must come secretly, and in the night? 
Among whom has started every Christian reformation, 
and almost every moral reform ? Who are the first to 
embrace religion in time of a*revival ? the first at the 
altar, fii'st to give up all for Christ, first to believe, first 
to find a pardoning Saviour, and the first and boldest 
to proclaim it to the world ? Almost every revival that 
I have witnessed has commenced among the lowly 
and the poor. Elder Knapp speaks, however, of one 
exception. He states of great preparations once being 
made to have a revival start in the upper circles, to 
give it tone and character. Multitudes of prayers as- 
cended, and prodigious efforts were made to have it 
start with a distinguished colonel. At length their 
long-deferred hopes were gratified. Amid many rejoic- 
ings, and in stately pomp and dignity, the colonel was 
seen bending his martial feet towards the altar. Thus 
the revival commenced with the colonel, and for a long 
time it continued only with the colonel. And finally, 
alas! it ended toith the colonel! 

7. Hopes for the Poor, — Who are they that forsook 
their nets on Galilee's shore ? and were schooled in 
poverty, inured to hardships, and exposed to danger ? 
They, who, from infancy, were stamped with decision 
for martyrdom? They who by faith and decision 
were prepared to unfurl the blood-stained banner of the 
cross over the capitol of the world's empire. Come, 
then, oh ye sons and daughters of poverty, the debt 
which the nation owes you shall be paid, and the 
church shall yet acknowledge its gratitude for your 



48 PREACHING TO THE POOR. 

labors. A better day is coming I A day wherein it 
shall be no disgrace to be honestly poor ! When the 
church shall no more be a cloak for retired bankrupts. 
Bankrupts with rich wives ! men who have " ground 
the faces of the poor, and spoiled them of their sub- 
stance, and the spoil of'the poor is in their houses." 
Whose families " walk haughtily, with stretched forth 
necks, and wanton eyes, and whose daughters are 
clothed with ornaments, and with changeable suits of 
apparel." — " Woe unto you that turn aside the needy ; 
that take away the right of the poor; that rob the 
fatherless, and make the portion of widows your prey I 
What will ye do in the day of visitation ? to whom 
will you flee for help ? and where will you leave your 
glory ? " — " Blessed be ye poor for yours is the king- 
dom of heaven." Take courage, then, ye heirs of 
penury! be reconciled to the lot of the apostles, and 
follow the footsteps of your blessed Lord. In hunger 
and cold and nakedness, remember that your fathers 
have trod the same thoray path, and climbed the same 
rugged steep. Toil on a little while longer, and when 
the world casts you off, ye may yet have consolations in 
the gospel. When friends forsake you, ye shall yet have 
a friend that sticketh closer than a brother. When 
your bread fails you ye shall have the bread of eternal 
life, the hidden manna of God's love. For your rai- 
ment, ye shall be clothed with the robe of Christ's 
righteousness ; and when your footsteps grow weary 
ye shall have a staff to lean upon ; when your sight 
becomes dim ye shall have a lamp to your feet, and a 
light to your path, and when you are parched with 
thirst ye shall drink of the waters of salvation, and the 
river of God's pleasure. When the old man sinks 



PREACHING TO THE POOR. 49 

apace, and totters towards the grave, the new man 
shall be renewed day by day. And at last, when heart 
and flesh fail you, and your ear is dull with age, God 
shall be your portion, and ye shall hear a voice, saying, 
" It is enough ! " " Well done good and faithful ; ye 
have been faithful over a few things, I will make you 
ruler over many things ; enter thou into the joy of thy 
Lord." 

8. Place for Preaching. — Then, by the debt of grat- 
itude we owe to the church and the poor ; by our duty 
to ourselves and our neighbor; by the commandments 
of God, and the example of Him who was anointed 
to preach the gospel to the poor, we should provide 
that the poor have the gospel preached to them. In 
this provision the place of worship and the kind of 
preaching are to be considered. First, the place. There 
are disadvantages in the splendid churches of our day ; 
they tend to make too great a distinction between the 
rich and the poor. The poor cannot compete with the 
magnificence of the place ; they do not feel at home 
there, and the rich tell them too plainly by their actions 
that they are not wanted. And to erect a small out- 
of-the-way missionary building in some remote part of 
the town, and hire a man to drum up for one particu- 
lar denomination, or settle a man there for life who has 
no life in him, — a man noted only for stupidity and 
dulness, though perfectly orthodox, with prayers so 
long, if length would avail, that they would reach 
heaven longitudinally, if not by faith ; and with preach- 
ing at half price, therefore running with slow time and 
low pressure, and bringing forth things new and old, 
all except the " new." To send the honest, humble, 
5 



50 PREACHING TO THE POOR. 

poor mechanic off to learn a lesson of humility under 
such circumstances, is to insult him. He wishes to 
meet on a platform where all meet on a Christian level, 
or he will stay at home. Next to the grave there is no 
such leveller as the gospel. Rich and poor, high and 
low, bond and free, are here all made to drink in the 
same spirit, and are all one body in Christ. Then the 
extremes of superb magnificence on the one hand, and 
the unpopular, contracted limits of a missionary build- 
ing on the other, should be met in a large and commo- 
dious audience room, where the rich and poor can 
worship in one brotherhood. The plea that many 
make for not opening their churches to me is, that I 
draw too many of the rabble who will soil the building. 
Now, I contend that no building should be too nice to 
receive sinners. This was the plea against Whitefield, 
he drew too many of the colliers and peasantry into 
their pewed churches, until at last the churches were 
closed, and he was obliged to preach in the fields. If 
he were to pass through our country at this time, he 
would be barred from the churches for the same rea- 
sons. They are too expensive and too richly furnished 
to be desecrated by the poor. 

9. Kind of Preaching. — The preaching that is made 
to order for fashionable life has no substantial food in 
it for the hungry poor. They cannot feed on syllo- 
gisms ; and after toiling all the week with a weary 
frame and a weary brain, they have no mind to study 
and strain and labor to follow out a complicated train 
of inductions, that shall finally prove what every per- 
son knew before, and what could be spoken in three 
words. We bless God that faith in our Lord Jesus 



PREACHING TO THE POOR. 51 

Christ may be purchased in an easier way than by 
wealth and learning. If it were by wealth, but few 
would be able to buy ; and if by learning, the number 
of those having large families to support who could 
afford time for the investigation would be small. And 
if heaven were peopled only by the world's honorable 
and the rich and the learned, its population would be 
sparse. A preacher may have a reputation for being a 
sound logician, — may have a choice assembly that ad- 
mire his honeyed words, — may take three days to write 
out what may be said in fifteen minutes, and so study 
the phraseology and round the periods of his discourse 
as to touch no man's conscience, humble no man's 
pride, expose none of his depravity, self-righteousness, 
covetousness, and hypocrisy, and still be counted a pop- 
ular preacher. But he is not a gospel preacher, nor is 
he sent by that Spirit that anoints the evangelist to 
preach the gospel to the poor. So long as the Word 
of God is made to pander to the fashions of the rich, 
— so long as worldly wisdom is made to sit in judg- 
ment on the pulpit, — so long as secular journals and 
sceptical reviews are to be our censors, — so long as 
wealth, station, and learning, rather than faith, rule 
our preaching, just so long the poor will not have the 
gospel preached to them. They may have what is 
called the gospel, — they may have an apology for the 
gospel, — they may have philosophy, science, rhetoric, 
logic, belle-lettres, and even discourses on morals, — but 
not the gospel. In such preaching there are no glad 
tidings to the meek, and no oil of joy to the mourning. 

10. Dignity and Death. — Some will affirm that a 
" preaching suited to the humblest comprehension will 



52 PREACHING TO THE POOR. 

lower the dignity of the pulpit." If by dignity you 
mean that pride and arrogance which overlooks the 
poor, then down with it ! And if it be the stateliness 
of an old hemlock stump with a few dead branches 
pointing upward, but as dead as if smitten a thousand 
times by lightning, then down with your dignity ! A 
loaded apple-tree with its bending branches touching 
the ground, looks better in our eye than a hemlock pole 
stuciv up for dignity. Then give us the preaching that 
will bow the heads and bring the fruit. What great bat- 
tles have ever been won by cold, dead dignity ? What 
victories achieved by titles and epaulets ? What ref- 
ormation started by knights and squires ? What 
force in empty, pompous dignity ? What power to re- 
form the world ? How does it comport with Jesus 
telling stories to the poor, and relating parables by the 
seaside ? How would it appear in the preaching of 
the fisherman, when three thousand were converted in 
a day ? Ah ! Reverend Sir I I apprehend there was 
some noise and confusion on that day, as well as dig- 
nity ! Some wringing of the hands, some shoutings of 
joy ; and some rage and envy stirred up among the cold, 
formal, heartless, dignified Pharisees ! Then away with 
your false dignity ! Throw off your hypocritical garb 
of sanctimoniousness ! Come down from your cloudy 
stateliness ! Bend the knees of your pomposity, and 
stoop from your haughtiness to speak to one of God's 
elect. Let your churches be open to all ; let them no 
more be like fancy parlors, exquisitely furnished, and 
too nice for the poor. I ask, in a working man's fam- 
ily, what room is so little used as the parlor ? Then let 
our churches be fitted for working men ; and be filled 
with working men, especially in a spiritual sense ; and 



PREACHING TO THE POOR. 53 

let our pulpits be filled with men that will work, — men 
that will turn the church parlors into kitchens, dead for- 
malities into force, fastidiousness and folly into feeling, 
fashion into faith, and turn your fiddles where the devil 
turned the swine. 

11. Better Day Coming ! — O ye poor of all the 
earth I Ye honest poor ; ye Christian poor ! Ye shall 
yet have the gospel preached to you. Ye whom specu- 
lation hath cheated of your earnings, and monopoly hath 
robbed of your substance. Ye forsaken, neglected, 
and despised by the speculating revellers of luxury. 
Ye who are treated with derision and contempt. Ye 
who may not walk the same streets with them, nor 
drink from the same spring, nor even feed on the 
crumbs from their table. Ye whose children may not 
look on their children, nor sport on the same hills, nor 
skip the same rope, nor attend the same school. Ye 
who once were in fortune, but too honest to defraud 
your creditors, and now are too proud to heg. Ye 
who have had the heavy hand of affliction upon your 
family. Ye who have drank in sorrow as a flood, and 
fed on anguish as your choice food. Who have 
flooded your pillow with weeping, and filled the moan- 
ing winds with your wailings. Who passing down 
from the Jerusalem of wealth, have fallen among 
thieves, who have stripped you of your raiment, and 
wounded you, and departed, leaving you half dead. 
Ye who are forsaken by both the priest and the Levite, 
and have no good Samaritan to bind up your wounds ; 
no balm of Gilead, no heavenly physician, no angel 
visitor by your bedside, no voice of prayer to comfort 
you, no wine of the kingdom, no oil of gladness, no 
5* 



54 PREACHING TO THE POOR. 

robe of righteousness, and no waters from the wells of 
salvation. Hear it? O ye heirs of penury! The 
gospel shall yet reach you. It shall come down from 
its high dignity, and as a heavenly physician, with 
herbs and balm and oil, entering your humblest dwell- 
ing, it shall yet give the oil of joy for mourning, and the 
garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness. It shall 
leave the temple of proud Phariseeism, the Capur- 
naum of infidelity, and go down among the Gentiles. 
It shall no more be a flatterer of the heartless rich. 
There is a better day coming. The Spirit of the Lord 
shall anoint those who will preach the gospel to the 
poor. Look up, then, ye comfortless! ye shall be 
comforted. Look up, ye friendless ! ye shall have a 
friend that sticketh closer than a brother. Look up, 
ye poor ! ye shall be rich through Jesus Christ. 

12. Poverty and Purity of the Church. — The church 
is said to be the Bride — the Lamb's wife ; and the 
only dower she brings her spouse is poverty. And in 
all ages her purity has been retained only with her 
poverty. When the Laodicean Church could say, " I 
am rich and increased in goods, and have need of 
nothing," then the Lord said, " Thou knowest not 
that thou art poor and wretched and miserable and 
blind and naked ; therefore I will spew thee out of 
my mouth." The purity of all evangelical denomina- 
tions has ever been most conspicuous when they were 
weak, poor, and persecuted. John Wesley warns his 
followers against costly churches, and high salaries ; he 
says, by these ye may make " rich men necessary to 
you, and then farewell to Methodism." " How hardly 
shall a rich man enter the kingdom of heaven." How 



PREACHING TO THE POOR. 55 

hard to give up his riches, his honors, his pride, and his 
self-righteousness. " It is easier for a catnel to go 
through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to 
enter the kingdom of God." The church in poverty is 
married to Christ, and in spirit becomes part and par- 
cel of himself. As Christ was poor, born poor, bred 
poor, lived poor, and died poor, and as his parents were 
poor, — so poor that instead of giving a lamb for an 
offering, to redeem their first born, which was the duty 
of the rich, according to law, they could only give, for 
so noble a son, the poor man's offering, a pair of turtle 
doves, or two young pigeons, — so his bride when she 
has the image of her husband she is poor. Look down 
ye rich I ye haughty ! ye proud I ye gay ! ye who 
despise work, and working men ; honest trades and 
tradesmen — look down and consider, that if you are 
saved at all, it is by a carpenter ! Oh, ye proud puffs 
of vanity ! ye who think the earth too mean for your 
silk-slippered feet, and the sun insulting that peeps 
into your chamber ! Ye poor purse-proud, silver tin- 
seled butterflies ! There is a frost coming — a nipping 
frost, that shall lay thy colors low, and shroud thee in 
thy winter's case. Thine eyes shall soon be the socket 
for worms, and thy cheek become food for unclean 
things. Thou shalt, with all thy pride, lie as low as 
the poor ; and many of you, I fear, without the poor 
man's hope of a glorious resurrection. Then welcome 
the poor to the same pews with yourselves. Welcome 
them to the same altar, to the same Saviour, and to the 
same heaven. 

13. Apostrophe to Poverty. — O poverty ! I love thee ! 
I love thy very name I I love thine abode I I love thy 



56 PREACHING TO THE POOR. 

features, careworn and haggard as they may appear. 
Beneath that wrinkled brow and those tattered gar- 
ments beats an honest heart, and a heart of purest love. 
I love thee, poverty ! as an old friend, I love thee ; for 
thou didst spur me on to diligence when a boy. When 
driven out in a December's snow, a boy of four years, 
with my widowed mother, thou wast my companion 
and my tutor. In the old dilapidated dwelling, when 
the cold winds shook the clapboards, and the snow hur- 
ried through the crevices, thou taughtest me to have 
courage and hope. When upon the couch of my poor 
sick mother the snow seemed to be weaving: her wind- 
ing sheet, thou taughtest me to trust God and have 
patience. When banks were high, and the wood was 
gone, and the fire was low, thou taughtest my young 
heart to be thankful that I had a cot to shelter me and 
a couch beneath me. And when night's covering was 
thin, and my frame was cold, thou taughtest me to re- 
member the poor who had no comforter. When my 
appetite was craving, and my bread had dwindled to 
the last crust, thou taughtest me to think of those who 
had no bread. And when I returned from school, and 
went into the forest with my handsled to gather sticks 
for my poor mother, and she placed a light in the win- 
dow to guide me home, thou taughtest me that my 
home is not in this winter world, but in heaven : and 
there my mother, if she goes before me, will still hold 
a light in the window for her wandering boy. Poverty I 
blessed poverty ! I love thee for what lessons thou hast 
taught me, and I love thee because thou wast the heri- 
tage of my blessed Saviour. 



SERMON III 



Deal gently for my sake with the young man. — 2 Samuel, 18:5. 

In addressing the young men, I address the highest 
interests of this nation. And in presenting a charac- 
ter for your consideration, I can find none of more 
interest than that of David. Considered in his rising 
from obscurity to renown, or in his misfortune by the 
rebellion of his son, or as a type of Christ, — in each 
of these three characters his life is filled with lessons 
of instruction. 

1. First his early history. — In David were exhibited 
the great elements of a successful man; decision of 
character, a commanding eloquence, and a sympathy 
for the humbler classes and the poor. He was born a 
hero ; he courted danger as a bride, and went to the 
battle field as to a banquet. When introduced to Saul 
he had nothing to recommend him but the two hands 
by which he tore both the lion and the bear in pieces ; 
and this was enough to stamp him a man of courage. 
When Israel was exposed forty days, and threatened 
by the Philistines who were now sounding the charge, 
and when he accepted the challenge of Goliath, he 
there exhibited the courage, skill, and unflinching faith 
in God, which attended him through life. He knew 
better than to meet the giant in his own mode of war- 



58 DEAL GENTLY WITH THE YOUNG MAN. 

fare, with shield and spear and coat of mail ; but 
choosing simpler weapons, and relying upon agility and 
skill, and the power of the all-potent Spirit, he went 
forth with the God of Sabbaoth to nerve his arm for 
the conflict. He was to conquer not only for his coun- 
try, but to overcome family prejudices against himself. 
Jealousy, that bane which followed him to the throne, 
that plague which haunts every great mind, com- 
menced early with him. He had been privately 
anointed in preference to seven older sons, and three 
of these were now in the army. The tall, disdainful 
Eliab said, " I know the pride and naughtiness of thy 
heart ; why hast thou left those few sheep in the wilder- 
ness ? " David said, " Is there not a cause ? " Has 
not the trumpet sounded, the battle commenced, and 
ye first-born hereditary cowards, not one of you dare 
accept the challenge ? " Who is this uncircumcised 
Philistine that he should defy the armies of the living 
God ? " And turning to the champion he said, " I 
come to thee in the name of the Lord of hosts, the 
God of the armies of Israel whom thou hast defied. 
This day let all the earth know that there is a God in 
Israel." Then seizing the stone and hurling it thrice 
around his head, in circles all omnipotent with death, 
he hurls its whizzing vengeance at the head of the 
giant blasphemer. And with shoutings he rushes 
toward his falling foe and leaps upon him, and plants 
his foot upon his neck, and with Goliath's own sword 
severs his head from his body. When he raises the 
trunkless head and shouts Victory ! victory I to the ar- 
mies of the God of Jacob, the Philistines see their disas- 
trous doom in their fallen champion, and trembling fly ; 
while Israel sounds the charge of battle, and rushing tu- 



DEAL GENTLY WITH THE YOUNG MAN. 59 

multuously on, shakes earth and heaven with the shouts 
and shocks of men in clashing arms. David, flush with 
the bloom of youth and the triumphs of victory, lays the 
champion's head at the feet of the king. But, as might 
be expected, when from out of all the cities the people as- 
cribed to David the greatest praise, and the women 
with tabrets and dances sang " Saul has slain his 
thousands and David his ten thousands," jealousy was 
excited against him, and he was obliged to leave the 
courts of Saul, flee from the habitations of men, and 
seek refuge in the wilderness. Woe to the underling 
who wins greater victories than his master. He may 
soon expect the loss of his station, or the loss of his 
head. Woe to the stripling who dare question the in- 
fallibility of ruling authorities. Woe to the genius 
who doubts that all intellectual greatness belongs to the 
critics. Woe to the reformer who disbelieves the per- 
fection of old institutions. Woe to the preacher w ho 
goes out of the beaten track of warfare, and wins 
victories without the cumbrous armor of Saul. The 
greater his victories the more will he be persecuted, 
and the sweeter he plays, the swifter will come the 
javelins of priestly jealousy. 

2. Banishment. — David was now a wanderer. His 
kind heart, and tender affections, and his popularity 
(strange to say), these alone produced his banishment. 
He wandered in the desert with no brother's comfort, 
or parent's care. At last he fled to dens and caves, 
some of which were large enough to hold an army; 
and there he poured out his prayer to God. He was 
innocent of any intention against the king, yet he was 
hunted upon the rocks of wild goats, and chased as a 



60 DEAL GENTLY WITH THE YOUNG MAN. 

partridge upon the mountains. He was in jeopardy 
every hour, and the " Sorrows of death compassed him, 
and floods of ungodly men made him afraid." He had 
one comfort, it was in the music of his harp. This 
was to him a solace ; he seized it, and flung his fingers 
over it, and felt a melancholy sweetness in its mourn- 
ful numbers. Retired from the busy world, weary 
with fatigue and excitement, and humbled and sub- 
dued by misfortune, his chastened spirit was in a 
proper frame to receive the visions of inspiration. In 
the caves of AduUam and Engedi, while his trembling 
fingers flew o'er the vibrating chords of his harp, his 
visual organs were clothed with prophecy. In his suf- 
ferings he saw typified the sufferings and banishment 
of a second David. He sung " Why standest thou 
afar off*, O Lord ? My tears have been my meat day 
and night; while they continually say, where is thy 
God ? My God I my God ! why hast thou forsaken 
me ? " The music rolled down the long, labyrinthian 
cells, and with lessening echoes died away in the 
shadowy, unknown distance. As the divine afflatus 
swelled his soul, and visions of immortality burst upon 
his gaze, he saw down the dim vista of future ages, 
the Messiah arise with sorrows to compete with his 
own. Innocent like himself, yet a man of sorrows and 
acquainted with grief, he was despised and rejected of 
men. He was led as a lamb to the slaughter, and was 
taken from prison to judgment, and in death there 
was none to deliver. Oh how like himself! How 
mournful the vision, yet not without hope. " Thou 
wilt not leave my soul in hell, neither wilt thou suffer 
thy holy One to see corruption." — Now the scene 
changes. The slow mournful dirges give way to live- 



DEAL GENTLY WITH THE YOUNG MAN. 61 

lier strains. The crystal walls of his cave, the stalac- 
tites hanging like icicles by the droppings of a thou- 
sand years, and the variagated tapestry woven by na- 
ture's own handi-work, seem lit up by the chariots of 
God, and his harp resounds with strains of victory. 
He sings, " The chariots of God are twenty thousand, 
even thousands of angels." " Thou hast ascended on 
high, thou hast led captivity captive : thou hast re- 
ceived gifts for men, yea for the rebellious also." 
Thus he saw the holy One submitting to judgment 
and to death ; but submitting rather as a conqueror 
than a captive. The powers of darkness quailed at 
his approach, and recoiled at so potent a personage in 
their dark dominions. He opens to the light of day, 
the gates of the citadel of death, and through the res- 
urrection, pours upon their portals the beams of the 
sun of righteousness. Then gathering the hosts of 
death's captives, with sound of the trumpet, he leads 
them to the gates of the New Jerusalem and cries, 
" Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lift up, ye 
everlasting doors ; and the King of Glory shall come 
in." — A voice from the watchman cries, " Who is the 
King- of Glory ?^^ — " The Lord, the mighty God, the 
Lord of hosts is his name." — " Who are the hosts to be 
admitted ivith him ? " — They are the captivity led cap- 
tive : " Lift up your heads, O ye gates ; and be ye lift 
up, ye everlasting doors ; and the King of Glory shall 
come in." Such was the song of David at the cave 
of Engedi. His own trials and triumphs foreshadow 
the sufferings and resurrection power of Christ. 



3. The Lesson. — To David the desert of adversity 
ol 
6 



was a better school for bringing out the creative ener- 



62 DEAL GENTLY WITH THE YOUNG MAN. 

gies of his mind, than the courts of Saul. Here, were 
developed all the stronger passions of his nature, and 
all the deeper resources of his soul. While he was a 
wanderer and an outcast from his countrymen, four 
hundred persons that were in debt, and in distress, and 
discontented with their condition and with their mas- 
ters, joined themselves to him, and he became a cap- 
tain over them. They most likely had come for plun- 
der. And for a man to govern these vagabonds, this 
refuse of the kingdom, and mould and fashion them 
into honest men, required more skill than was ever 
exhibited by Alfred, or Peter the Great. For David, 
himself a fugitive from his king, under the ban of his 
country's curse, without wealth or resources of his 
own, without even the means of sustenance, save what 
he hunted from the mountains ; for him to gather such 
a rabble about him, and, without the help of law or 
government, to change them into honest men and 
heroes, and even make them join in worshipping the 
most high God, — for such a man, under such circum- 
stances to so transform these renegades into honest 
men and heroes, and hand over their names to history 
and immortality, among the bravest men that ever 
drew the bow, or shook the spear, bespeaks a character 
fit to govern mightiest monarchi-es. Israel's throne 
must soon be vacant for such a man. Success must 
finally crown his efforts, for the " root of the matter " 
was in him. Take courage then, O young man who 
art banished by thy superiors. Take courage and 
hope on, when fortune seems to frown upon you. 
After many a defeat thou shalt finally come off vic- 
torious. In the battles of life thou hast many Goliaths 
to meet, and every success may awaken jealousy in 



DEAL GENTLY WITH THE YOUNG MAN. 63 

thy compeers, but toil on, fight on, hope on, and thy 
day of triumph will finally come. You may be called 
from the sheep cote to many a great action. Let it be 
said of thee as of David before he left the flock, " He 
is a mighty man and valiant." If David was valiant 
as a shepherd, he would be valiant as a king. So if 
thou art noble in little things, higher spheres of useful- 
ness will soon be vacant for thee. Murmur not at thy 
low condition ; the true man, the true genuine metal 
of man, is seen better in a cottager than in a king. 
Then be steady to thy purpose, and flinch not at trial, 
poverty, and opposition. Welcome the contest that 
shall plant thy foot on the neck of difficulty ; welcome 
the occasion that shall place thee in danger; the place 
of honor is the place of danger. Welcome the fiery 
trial that shall mould thy gross metal into steel. Wel- 
come the furnace that shall refine the gold of thy na- 
ture. Welcome the rough wind that shall force the 
sleepy seeds of genius from thy bosom, and scatter 
them to the world. Welcome the pestle and the mor- 
tar that shall bruise thy withering spirit, and bring out 
sweet odors unknown to the world before. Welcome 
that vintage which may crush thy clustering hopes, and 
express for the world's benefit the purest juice of thy 
Christian experience. And when driven into the wil- 
derness of misfortune, there make the desert subservi- 
ent to thee, and there discipline thyself for more lucky 
adventures. Wherever thou art, exercise thyself for 
noble deeds, and make both friends and foes feel the 
power of thy moral greatness. . Choose one object and 
let it be the bent of thy lifetime. If you fail once or 
twice, failures may strengthen you for greater actions. 
The discipline of defeat is often better than victory. 



64 DEAL GENTLY WITH THE YOUNG MAN. 

The defeats of Peter the Great by Charles the Twelfth, 
taught Peter the art of war, and by this he became the 
Autocrat of all the Russians. Then, O young man, 
take courage in thy defeats. Kites rise only against 
the wind ; and vessels sail better with head wind than 
no wind at all. Young trees root deepest when 
shaken, torches burn best when beaten, and camomile 
spreads most when trodden upon. Then press on and 
hope. Trust thy fortune in the hands of God, and it 
shall be well with thee. Be firm as a rock against 
temptation ; and compromise not with the devil. 
Keep not back part of the price, give all or nothing. 
Be honest in thy purpose, honest with thyself, and 
honest with thy God. Have an inflexible purpose to 
do what is right, let come what will ; and have the "un- 
conquerable will, never to submit or yield " to what is 
wrong. Finally, look up. Let thy moral and Christian 
standard be high, and then implore God to bear thee 
to it. Look up ! look up ! 

4. An Incident. — When Alexander had conquered 
nearly all Asia, he came to one fortress which seemed 
impregnable. It was a high rock, called Petra Oxiana, 
accessible by a single path only, which had been cut 
through it, and defended by thirty thousand men. 
Arimazes, the commander, on being ordered to capitu- 
late, haughtily replied, " if Alexander had wings he 
might come and take the fortress." Alexander was 
highly exasperated at this insolent answer, and calling 
three hundred of the most dexterous of his young men, 
men who had been schooled on mountain crags, he 
bid them climb on the opposite side, and wave a sig- 
nal when they should arrive back of the fortress. An 



DEAL GENTLY WITH THE YOUNG MAN, 65 

immense reward was offered to each, and the twelve 
first ascending were to have treasures that would make 
rich a king. And a greater incentive was, that they 
were to be continually under the eye of their com- 
mander. Alexander dismissed them, and ordered them 
to beseech the gods for protection. They spent one 
day and two nights in climbing amid the winds and 
snow, with wedges, cramp irons, and ropes which an- 
swered for scaling ladders, and after seeing thirty of 
their companions dashed in pieces, the others, on the 
second morning, unfurled a white flag at the top of the 
rock. Alexander never watched a battle with more 
interest than he saw those brave young men toil up 
the ascent. All the day long he gazed upon them, 
and when the next daylight came, he was first to see 
the signal. Arimazes was then summoned to surren- 
der ; but he replied more insolently than before. He 
was then ordered to look upon the rock behind him, 
and see that Alexander's soldiers had wings. At this 
moment they waved their flags, and shouted, and from 
the army below, the trumpet sounded, shout answering 
to shout, and so astounding were the noise and confu- 
sion, that the barbarians, not observing whether there 
were few or many behind them upon the rock, at once 
surrendered. — Young Christian Warrior ! behold in 
this thy upward course. Thou hast enlisted under a 
Captain greater than Alexander. His eyes are con- 
tinually upon thee ; they " neither slumber nor sleep." 
The world, the flesh, and the devil oppose thy progress. 
The world weighs thee down, the lusts of the flesh set 
thee on slippery places, the lusts of the eye dim thy 
sight, and the wiles of the devil hedge up thy path- 
way. These are worse enemies than warring elements. 
6* 



66 DEAL GENTLY WITH THE YOUNG MAN. 

But thy Captain bids thee on ; he watches every 
effort, and smiles to see thee overcome every difficulty. 
And now I see thee stand upon the beetling crag of 
venture. The tempests of despair whistle around thee ; 
you have come to the slippery sides of unbelief. 
With exhausting effort thou has taxed every nerve, 
and nature seems yielding. To look down is death, 
thy dizzy brain is reeling ; thou art sliding over the 
brink of despair. Just at this moment a voice comes 
from above " To the promises I cling to the promises I 
Look up and believe." Now I see that despairing eye 
look upward. You grasp the rope of God's promises. 
I see the saints rejoice at your undying grasp. Minis- 
tering spirits come down to help you. They whisper, 
" Hold on the end." " Hold fast that which is given 
thee." " Be faithful unto death and I will give thee a 
crown of life." O young man, look up ! Many of 
thy companions have fallen ; they have fallen, where no 
trumpet can awake them. Look up, then, for below is 
death ! Look up, for the prize is before thee ! Look 
up, for thy Captain sees thee ! Look up, for the saints 
watch thy struggle I Look up, for hope gleams in the 
distance I Look up, for the star of Bethlehem beams 
'Over the mountain. It is the Day Spring from on high. 
Look up, for the night is far spent, the day is at hand, 
the morning light is breaking. Look up, for thy trials 
are almost ended, a few struggles more, and all is 
done. See there! some of thy companions have 
reached the goal I They have arrived safely. They 
beckon thee onward. There stand thy mother and thy 
friends to welcome thee. They wave the palms of 
victory I They sing the song of the redeemed. And 
now the music rolls down the delectable mountains. 



DEAL GENTLY WITH THE YOUNG MAN. 67 

and from the land of Bulah afar off, echoing, " Alle- 
luia I Alleluia ! Glory, honor, and power unto our God 
and the Lamb forever." 

PART SECOND. 

5. The rebellious young man. — We now consider 
David's misfortune in the rebellion of his son. " In 
all Israel there was none so much to be praised as 
Absalom for his beauty ; from the sole of his foot to 
the crown of his head there was no blemish in him." 
He was a proud, enterprising, ambitious prince, and 
seemed worthy of the throne had he waited the 
demise of the father. The father was a warrior. He 
had conquered from the river of Egypt to the Euphrates, 
and was the most renowned king then reigning upon 
the earth. For a son to grasp the empire from such 
hands, and enroll under his rebellious banner such vast 
multitudes of once loyal subjects, shows the powers 
of no common mind. But woe was decreed against 
that father, for he had sinned. And now seeing how 
few were his followers, and how strong the rebellion, 
he, for the first time in battle, fled before his foe. He 
might have held out for some time in the strong towers 
of Jerusalem, but he considered himself smitten and 
afflicted of God, and now fleeing, praying, and weep- 
ing, he leaves the event with his Maker. With sack- 
cloth upon his head, barefoot, and with the voice of 
lamentation, he goes over the brook Kedron, where the 
second David afterwards passed, and with his few 
weeping followers he flees beyond the Mount of Olives. 
Oh, what cowards does conscience make of the bravest 
men ! When Shimei, the son of Gera, from the house 



68 DEAL GENTLY WITH THE YOUNG MAN. 

of Saul, cursed him and said, " Come out thou son of 
Belial," and casting stones and throwing dust, David 
had no courage to oppose, but said, " The Lord hath 
said unto him curse David, it may be the Lord will 
look upon my affliction and requite me good for his 
cursing this day." Upon himself then he charges the 
guilt and the misfortunes of his kingdom, and con- 
siders Absalom only an instrument in the hand of God. 
He loves Absalom as his own soul, and even now is 
more interested for his welfare than for his own, or for 
that of his kingdom. Guilty, treacherous, perfidious 
as was that scape-gallows of a son, nevertheless it was 
a father that mourned over his misguided ambition, 
one that mourns as a father only can mourn over such 
brilliant talents, over energies worse than wasted, and 
over the irretrievable wreck of an heir apparent to the 
throne. Absalom seemed his only care. When call- 
ing the three captains, Joab, Abishai, and Ittai, to 
give them orders, he said, " Deal gently for my sake 
with the young man, even with my son Absalom." 
When watching at the gates for messengers from the 
battle, his inquiry was not Which way went the battle, 
not Is David's kingdom taken from him, not whether 
twenty thousand brave men of his kingdom are slain, 
but " Is the young man Absalom safe ? " And when 
Ahimaaz the first courier came, all other considerations 
were absorbed in this one inquiry, " Is the young man 
Absalom safe ? " And when Cushi the second mes- 
senger came, his first words were, " Is the young man 
Absalom safe ? " Cushi answered and said, " The 
enemies of my lord the king be as that young man is." 
" And the king was much moved, and went up to the 
chamber over the gate and wept, and as he went, thus 



DEAL GENTLY WITH THE YOUNG MAN. 69 

he said, O my son Absalom I my son, my son Absa- 
lom ! would God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my 
son, my son. And the victory of that day was turned 
into mourning, and the people gat them into the city 
as people being ashamed steal away when they flee in 
battle." " But the king covered his face, and with a 
loud voice he cried, O my son Absalom ! O Absalom I 
my son I my son ! " And to paraphrase it : O Absa- 
lom! so beautiful, so enterprising, so brave, and so 
powerful to win more than half of my kingdom. Oh, 
if I had not sinned thou mightest have reigned in 
peace, and thy flowing locks, thy beauty, and thy tal- 
ents have been an honor to my throne. Bui I, an old 
warrior whom the legions of Saul could not defeat, 
nor the hosts of the Philistines vanquish, have in a 
moment been conquered by my lusts. I have become 
a worm and no man ; my enemies shoot out the lip 
and laugh me to scorn, and shake the head, and cry 
Aha! aha! he trusted in God, let Him deliver him. 
My example has desolated my kingdom, disgraced my 
family, slain my son, and left me a floating wreck of 
misfortune, the rotten fragments of hope, remaining 
above ground only to grieve that I had not died for 
thee, O Absalom, my son, my son. O ye vile of all 
coming ages, and all the earth ! take the name of David 
as a passport for your lusts, a pattern for your crimes, a 
stumbling-block over which thousands may fall to hell ; 
then blame me for lamenting that I had not died for 
thee, O Absalom, my son ! my son ! Ye infidels ! and 
apostates ! ye that shall come in the latter days ! search 
out the word of God till you come to my name ! then 
seize it, and gloat upon it, and feed upon its crimes as 
vermin do on corruption! wallow in its slime, and 



70 DEAL GENTLY WITH THE YOUNG MAN. 

crawl in its filth, and through my sin trample upon the 
word of God, fleer at it, contemn it, and deny its 
Author, and say that David, a man after God's own 
heart, taken from the sheep-cote and established in 
glory above kingdoms, that he became a curse to his 
people, the ruin of his empire, a reproach to his God, 
a mockery for the heathen, contemned by his family, 
rebelled against by his son, and then say that I ought 
to have outlived thee ! O Absalom ! my son ! my son ! 
O ye scoffers ! and blasphemers ! howl it to the end of 
the world ! that I, the beloved of the Lord, the sweet 
singer of Israel, the inspired prophet, the type of the 
Messiah, holding communion with heaven : that I, 
David (shout it in hell I echo it through the regions of 
dark damnation!) — that I, O my God ! I, David, a man 
after thine own heart, should become a vile adulterer ! 
and a murderer ! and yet should have lived instead of 
thee, O Absalom ! my son ! my son ! 

6. Application. — Behold in this the vicarious sacri- 
fice of Christ. David sinned and suffered for it; he suf- 
fered for his own sins ; but Christ suffered, " who knew 
no sin," being made sin for us. As David wept over his 
rebellious son, so Christ weeps over the children of men. 
David sinned, but Absalom dies, yet you sin and the 
" Everlasting' Father " dies. He sees thee, O young 
man, hung like Absalom by the locks of thy pride. 
Three great champions, like Joab, Abishai, and Ittai, 
are after thee — Law, Justice, and Judgment. Law 
seizes thee by the locks, Justice holds the scales, weighs 
thy crimes, and notes thy punishment, while Judgment 
hurls the arrows of death at thy defenceless breast. 
While thou art hung between heaven and earth, be- 



DEAL GENTLY WITH THE YOUNG MAN. 71 

tween hope and despair, and while those three cap- 
tains of the Great King, clamor for thy blood, here 
comes the Son of God the " Mighty Counsellor," the 
" Everlasting Father," and cries, " Deal gently with the 
young man ; and though he is guilty, yet save him 
from deserved wrath." But Justice cries, " He hath 
rebelled ; he is a traitor, and shall be dealt with accord- 
ing to law. The soul that sinneth, it shall die. To 
the law and the testimony , an eye for an eye, tooth 
for tooth, death for death ; he shall pay the utmost 
farthing, even the last jot and tittle ; now, traitor ! 
thou shalt die." " Hold ! hold I " says Christ, " I will 
deliver him from the law, I will pay the penalty, even 
death for death. Hold, O Justice ! Stand back, ye 
spearmen of the Law. For my sake, deal gently with 
the young man. He is penitent, let him live. For 
my sake, I say. Behold my hands, my feet, my side. 
On me, and me alone, let Judgment's arrows fall. I 
will cover him with a shield. That shield is faith. 
Now thine arrows may glance from him to me. Come 
then, O Justice I weigh the utmost of his crime ; and 
come O Judgment, and spend on me the thunder- 
bolts of thy wrath. Even to the grave do I go, and 
meet in the dark empire of death, the penalty of a 
broken law. Then for my sake, save — oh, save the 
purchase of my blood." Thus Christ dies that those 
who believe might live. Then behold, O young man, 
hung as thou art, like a thief upon the cross, behold 
the substitute by thy side. Hear his groans; behold his 
bleeding side, hear him cry, " Father, forgive, for my 
sake. Oh, deal gently with the young man. Behold 
these scars ; for my sake, O Father, let a repenting 
rebel live." Hear it ! O young man I Hear his prayer 



72 DEAL GENTLY WITH THE YOUNG MAN. 

for thee. Stop ! stop thy rebelhon ! It is against thy 
best friend ; thine own father ; one who has a king- 
dom for thee. Oh, forfeit it not ! Accept his mercy. 
Absalom could not live, his life was forfeited; his 
father's weeping could not save him, his voice could 
not reach him, and his arm could not stay the hand of 
Joab. He was too far off. But thy helper is near thee ; 
our God is a present help in time of trouble. A Sav- 
iour's arm reaches from the highest heaven, down! 
down ! to the deepest pit out of hell ! He stops the 
Joab of Justice, he satisfies the claims of Law ; and 
he diverts Judgment from thee, if thou wilt accept his 
terms. Come down, then, thou proud rebel! Come 
down, thou who art hung in the locks of sin ! Come 
down, thou wounded, dying transgressor ! and Christ 
will abide at thy house. Oh, taste and see that the 
Lord he is good. Can it be possible, guilty as thou 
art, that you will refuse offered mercy. What more 
can be done for thee ? What more can God do than 
give his son ? What more can the Son do than give 
his life ? What more can the Spirit do than follow 
thee in thy mad career toward the tomb ; follow thee 
like a child — one that loves thee and clings to thee 
in spite of bad treatment ; follow thee to thy bed- 
chamber, weep upon thy slumbering eyelids, soothe 
thee in thy dreams, make easy thy pillow, bless thee in 
thy waking, and strive with death struggles to paralyze 
thy rebellious arm ; and when thou wouldest yield, to 
indite thy penitent prayer, and intercede for thy travail- 
ing soul with groanings which cannot be uttered. 
What more can be done, than has been done ? Yet 
thou art unsaved, art still rebellious. I see thee stand 
like Absalom at the gates and bow to the unwary, 



DEAL GENTLY WITH THE YOUNG MAN. 73 

and seize their hand, and kiss them to win them from 
allegiance to thy Father's throne. There, thou standest 
with thy golden locks, thy beaming eye, thy sparkling 
wit ; and thy matchless beauty from top to toe without 
a blemish. Thou art lofty in thy pride, haughty in thy 
step, and yet thou art " Crouching and humbling thy- 
self to catch the poor ; thou dost catch the poor, when 
thou drawest them into thy net." And there thou 
standest to entice to death. " Like a lion that is 
greedy of his prey, and as it were a young lion lurking 
in secret places." I see thee drive with thy chariots, 
and. thy fifties like a king; high and scornful thy looks, 
disdainful thy pride, yet captivating to those who listen 
to thy entreaties. I see thee force many an uncautious 
one into thy ranks, many a luckless son of a praying 
parent, i see thee chuckling over some great captain 
thou hast won ; some Amasa whom thou enrollest un- 
der thy banner. I see thy malicious sport over many 
a backslider whom thou hast ship\vTecked from faith 
to his king ; many an only son of a widowed mother, 
and over tears, and blood, and broken hearts, " as bones 
scattered at the grave's mouth." I see multitudes going 
after thee, like the two hundred after Absalom in 
their simplicity, knowing nothing of the dreadful 
doom that awaits them. O my God ! is there mercy 
for such a wretch ? Mercy for one whose talents 
and influence can bring so much ruin on young men. 
Absalom was a wholesale murderer, and a murderer 
of the unsuspecting and the innocent. He would be a 
fratricide, a parricide, and a regicide, but thou wouldst 
be still more ; thou wouldst be a deicide ! and pierce 
afresh the Son of God. Merciful heavens I can there 
be mercy for thee, a ringleader of rebels against God ? 
7 



74 DEAL GENTLY WITH THE YOUNG MAN. 

Thee ! thou vile blasphemer ! striving to oppose his 
religion, overturn his government, ridiculing his mercy, 
deriding his faithful subjects, seducing them from al- 
legiance, mocking their prayers, and trampling upon 
the word of his law ? Is there hope for thee, dead as 
thou art in trespasses and sin ; dead to every moral 
sense; dead to all gratitude, all love, all favor, all 
hope ? Yes, there is hope for the hopeless. Our God 
is a great Grod, and is able to save to the uttermost. 
Here comes the " Everlasting Father I " and as he wept 
at the tomb of Lazarus, so he weeps over thee. O 
my son, my erring son ; so well favored, so beautiful 
thy form, so lovely thy silken locks, so commanding thy 
eloquence, so winning, so brilliant thy talents, fit for a 
king, have all these gifts been wasted, and art thou 
dead ? Have all my grants, my boons, my blessings, 
my watchings, my warnings, my love, and my life, 
been lost on thee ? O, my son, it is a father that still 
loves thee. He loves thee because thou art his own 
son, because he has redeemed thee, and wasted a 
heaven of blessings upon thee. He loves thee, and 
rebellious as thou art, if thou wilt now submit, he 
restores thee to life and favor, he stamps his image 
upon thee, he gives th^e the new name, the signet of 
his favor, that thou mayest bear his honors, his titles, 
and the glories of his kingdom. He pities thee for thy 
misfortunes, and weeps over thy distress. O my 
son, hadst thou known the death by sin, thou hadst 
not sinned. Hadst thou known the end of thy rebel- 
lion, thou hadst not rebelled. But yet there is hope. 
The flitting spirit still hovers o'er the frame from 
whence it was forced away. The heart of hope has a 
few pulsations left. A new spirit may yet touch thy 



DEAL GENTLY WITH THE YOUNG MAN. «0 

dull, dead ear. A new light may yet flash upon thine 
eye. He who created thee, and hast redeemed thee, 
shall now restore thee. Oh, let a father's voice reach 
thy dead soul I Oh, let the arm of Omnipotence raise 
thy fallen head. Oh, let thy heart beat anew with pul- 
sations of life. Let the " wheel at the cistern " be 
moved by the flood-gates of atoning blood. Let thine 
ear awake to the " daughters of music ; " awake to 
redeeming love. Let thy "darkened windows" see 
the light of life. Let hope, blessed hope ! beam with 
the radiance of immortality. Awake I awake ! thou 
that sleepest, and arise from the dead. Awake and 
sing, thou that dwellest in the dust. Now! rise and 
stand upon thy feet I Now, reach forth thy hand to 
the hope set before thee ! Now, turn thy feet in the 
way of God's testimonies ! Now, open thine eyes and 
look! Look, and live I Thou hast been wicked, but 
thou hast been tempted. And he who ruined our 
earliest mother in Eden, is more to blame than thee. 
He shall have no atonement, no reprieve, but thou 
mayest be re-instated, and become an heir of immortal 
glory. " If any man sin we have an advocate with the 
Father, Jesus Christ the righteous." 

7. Richard Leedom. — In the spring of 1846, Rich- 
ard Leedom, from Buffalo, started in his boat, with his 
gun, sporting on Niagara River. It was a bright, sunny 
morning, and game was plenty ; fowls came over as if 
by his bidding, and by his bidding they fell at his feet. 
A hunter's enchantment took full possession of his 
soul. He thought not of time nor the speed of the 
tide, but was borne "upon the heaving bosom of the 
silver stream, calmly as an infant upon its mother's 



76 DEAL GENTLY WITH THE YOUNG MAN. 

breast. On, on, he was borne, thinking not of the 
future, but all absorbed in the interest of the sport, he 
was lost in forgetfulness. Still on he was carried, and 
on, until, before he thought of danger, he found him- 
self among the rapids above Niagara Falls I Now he 
saw how swifdy the distant shore, and each projecting 
rock were passing, and now he resolved to turn his 
course. But now, when endeavoring to oppose the 
tide, for the first time did he feel its irresistible power. 
When turning his boat the waves shook him more 
violently than ever, and more swiftly was he borne 
downward, until death appeared inevitable. But hav- 
ing before faced both danger and death, and being 
brave in the hour of peril, he was resolved not to die 
without a struggle. Swift as thought, he took his 
position, and braced his feet, and placed his oars, and 
headed the stream. And now for an effort, come life 
or death. .Arms! do your best! Nerves! string your 
strength ! Oar ! roll back the mighty tide ! Life ! 
life ! life ! is in the struggle. But all was in vain. 
Down! down! he flew, swifter than a weaver's shuttle, 
swifter than an arrow sped in air, and swifter than the 
swift-footed Asahel runninof to his own distruction. 
At length he saw a rock projecting above the wave, 
right in his course. And just below him upon the 
bridge extending from Goat Island to the American 
shore, two men were standing, and one of them started 
for a rope but found there was no time. Richard saw 
them, and saw the rock just before him, and knew not 
what to do. Without a moment's delay he must leap 
now or never, and he cried out, " Tell me ! tell me ! 
shall I jump out of the boat? Shall T leap for the 
rock ? " But they dare not speak, lest they should tell 



DEAL GENTLY WITH THE YOUNG MAN. 77 

him wrong, and on he was carried, down by the rock, 
by the piers of the bridge, down ! down I and now 
upon the brink, with the mists of death festooning his 
brow, and the thunderings of Niagara's roar ringing 
death's knell in his ears, he gazes for the last time 
upon that brilliant sun now shining, far up the stream, 
upon his happy home, his unsuspecting wife, and his 
two happy children at play, and he sinks ! he sinks ! to 
rise no more. 

8. Application. — Behold, young man ! behold in 
this, O son of pleasure, thy fate. Thou art sporting 
upon the gliding stream of youth, looking for novelty 
and watching for pleasure. Thy sail is spread to catch 
every gale of excitement ; thou art hurried on by every 
tide of passion, and allured by the charms of sin. There 
is music in the air; celestial voices seem to greet thee; 
each wave dashes melodiously; corruscations of bril- 
liancy dance upon the spray; the wing of pleasure 
lights upon thy prow, and fairy forms sport upon thy 
vision. The voices of the Syrens entice thee onward, 
the gratifications of the appetite, the indulgences of the 
lusts and the passions, the pleasures of the weed, the 
pleasures of the bowl, the pleasures of the dance, and 
the excitement of gaming, hurry thee on, on I swift as 
thought, swift as time, and swifter than the rapids of 
Niagara. In thine enchantment thou art asleep to 
danger. Thine eyes see not the distant shore hurrying 
by ; thine ears hear not the sound of distant breakers, 
and thy bosom feels not the heaving of the tide. The 
god of this world hath blinded thee ; thou art uncon- 
scious of thy state, and insensible to danger. Young 
man, ahoy ! The rapids are before thee ! Young man, 



78 DEAL GENTLY WITH THE YOUNG MAN. 

ahoy ! Now I see thee turn thy bark ; but now, for 
the first time, thou feelest the irresistible power of habit 
and of appetite. It is only when striving to oppose 
the tide, to break off thy habits, that thou knowest their 
power. Then turn, O young man, turn I turn I for 
why wilt thou die ? Oh, turn I and stem the stream. 
Young man, ahoy I the rapids of eternal damnation 
are around thee. The smoke of hell torments, thicker 
than the mists of Niagara, looms before thee. The 
roar of ten thousand Niagaras already ring in thine 
ears. Oh, turn thy wandering bark I Seize the helm 
of thy destiny I Lay hold of the oar of resolution! 
Brace thy feet on the Rock of Ages ! and by the power 
of prayer pull for thy life ! Pull I till thy veins are 
ready to burst. Pull I till thine eyes burst from their 
sockets. Pull I till the blood gushes from thy nostrils. 
Pull! till thy bones are out of joint. VnWl pull! pull! 
or thou art forever lost ! Yet, of thine own strength, 
thou canst not be saved. Thou art gone too far for 
mortal help. But there is a bridge stretching over thy 
course, '• A highway of holiness cast up for the ran- 
somed of the Lord ; " and on it stands our Lord Jesus 
Christ. He throws down to thee a cable ; it is the 
cable of faith from the anchor of hope. It is a slip- 
pery rope, and just long enough to reach thee. His 
voice cries, "Lay hold of the hope set before thee." 
And God has but one time for thee to do it, and one 
promise, and that is now. 

9. Danger of delay. — While visiting Niagara Falls, 
1 obtained the following account of a man who per- 
ished there, because while upon a rock above the falls, 
he would not lay hold of a rope sent to him. On a 



DEAL GENTLY WITH THE YOUNG MAN. 79 

certain day the whole village was startled with the an- 
nouncement, that a man had floated to a rock among 
the rapids below the bridge. Immediately the bridge 
and the banks were thronged with people. All eyes 
were turned toward the unfortunate man, and all 
hearts yearned for his rescue. A raft was constructed 
to float towards him, but it broke in pieces, and a boat 
was sent, but it foundered, and yet another, and 
another, but all their efforts proved abortive. The mad 
tide like demons that guard their prey, dashed in pieces 
every craft that came near. Only a rope could be 
floated to his grasp, but this he was afraid to trust. It 
was a long distance to the bridge, and he was fearful 
that he could not keep above the wave. He refused it, 
and called for more certain relief. The sun was set- 
ting, all means had failed, and his friends cried out to 
him to lay hold of the rope, for it must be his only 
hope. As he stood trembling, hesitating, and refusing, 
his wife and children stepped forward from the crowd, 
and raised their eyes and hands and voices to heaven, 
and implored him to lay hold of the rope, and fasten it 
around him, and trust the rest to God. They wept, 
they prayed, they entreated, and appealed to him by 
his love to them, by his desire for life, and by the 
counsel of all his friends to lay hold for his life. " Lay 
hold ! lay hold I " echoed from shore to shore, and was 
repeated by more than a thousand voices, but all to no 
purpose. The man was afraid to try. He had rather 
run the risk of waiting another day in hopes of better 
assistance. He waited, but gained nothing, and lost 
his life. His fingers had become too benumbed to tie 
the rope, and his arms too weak to keep above the 
wave. He had waited too long, but with his chilled, 



80 DEAL GENTLY WITH THE YOUNG MAN. 

stiff fingers he made an effort, — alas I it was too late. 
His rattling, bony fingers struck numbly against the 
rope, but he could not grasp it, and he could not tie it 
around him. He struggled desperately to call back by 
exertion, life and heat to his frame, but all in vain. 
His foot shpped, his hand failed, and the tide bore him 
down. But the shock started his blood and heat again, 
and for some time he kept above the wave. Oh, the 
shrieks that rent the air when the spectators saw him 
driven from the rock. Oh, the wails of that wife, and 
the shrieks of those children. " He is gone I he is 
gone ! my father, oh, my father." And the poor dying 
man, now beneath and now above the wave, when 
coming near the brink, as if to bid them farewell, 
sprung with more than half his length above the tide, 
and with arms extended, sunk for the last time, and 
rolled down the tide to eternity. 

I need not enlarge. O young man, the fingers of thy 
faith may soon be too benumbed by sin, to lay hold 
of God's promises. Then delay not another night ; 
no, not another hour, or even moment. But now lay 
hold. While standing upon the uncertain rock of pro- 
bation, with conviction's waters supplanting thy feet, 
now ! now ! now ! grasp the hope of eternal life, and 
now make heaven thine eternal home. 



SERMON IV. 



Go tell. Go say. Matt. 28 : 10; Johx, 20 : 17. 

Delivered in Boston Music Hall, May 8, 1859 ; afterwards revised 
and corrected by tlie author. 

1. Go tell. Go say. — This was the commission of 
Christ, on the morning of his resurrection, to Mary. 
Mary signifies bitterness and exaltation. It fitly rep- 
resents the sorrows and joys of the Christian, and the 
trials and triumphs of the Church. Bitter are the sor- 
rows of woman, deep and pungent the pains of her 
anguish, but great is her exaltation in a Saviour's love. 
Though she be the greater sufferer under the rod of 
aflOiiction, she soonest finds mercy, and is the earliest 
recipient of Christ's bounty. Though she were first 
in transgression, first in the fall, she is first to rise- 
again. Who are they that now follow nearest a risen, 
Saviour, and fall lowest at his feet ? Who are first at 
the circle of prayer, first to receive the spirit kindlings. 
of a revival, first at the altar, first to believe, and first 
to rejoice in redeeming love ? Who can most sympa- 
thize with the distressed, comfort the mourning, and 
bind up the broken-hearted? Whose footsteps are 
swiftest on errands of mercy, nearest the abodes of 
suffering, soonest at the bedside of the dying, and last 
to leave it ? Who are they that come flitting as a 
spirit through the sick chamber ; and, gently stealing 



82 woman's mission. 

upon the fevered vision, smile as a rainbow of promise 
through showers of anguish ? Who bend over in 
looks of pity and tears of tenderness and plead in 
prayer for the afflicted, as Mercy weeping ? Ye who 
have lain low with fever and become childlike in 
weakness and simplicity, who needed something more 
congenial to your broken spirit than mammon ; ye 
who in your distress have had a kind wife or a sister 
to bring the cordial to your burning lips, wipe the 
death-dew from your aching brow, smooth your pil- 
low, part the locks of your burning grief, calm your 
fevered senses, and soothe your troubled spirit ; ye who 
have felt by your side one sharing your distress, striv- 
ing to lift the weight of your agony, wooing to herself 
your distracted thoughts, drinking in your anguish, 
weeping with your tears, sighing in your sorrow, and 
praying in your prayer, and feeling to say " Whither 
thou goest I will go, where thou diest I will die, and 
there will I be buried ; " ye who have felt the heaven- 
ordained ministrations of woman in the sick-room, and 
ye who have known her gifts in comforting weeping 
penitents, and pointing them to the Lamb of God, — ye 
may testify that Jesus delivered his commission into 
proper hands when he commissioned woman to an- 
nounce his resurrection, and tell his faithless and cow- 
ardly disciples that he would meet them in Galilee. 

2. Telling,) saying. — This is old-fashioned preaching. 
Telling what the Lord hath done ; saying, come and 
see how good the Lord is. Telling of experience, is 
the loudest preaching. And whose experience is 
deeper than woman's, both in sorrow and joy ? Whose 
fidelity more firm, and whose faculty for expressing 



woman's mission. 83 

religious experience more happy? Then by Ihe very 
nature of her being, woman is ordained to preach. 
But not in the sense of modern pulpit ministrations ;* 
for I beheve this reading metaphysical dogmas from' 
Latin roots and Greek derivations — this setting one 
man far above the people, to teach dull, dead, theoW- 
ical disquisitions — this filling the head with syllogism^ 
rather than the heart with the Holy Ghost, was never 
ordained of God at all. She is commissioned to 
talk. Who does not know the benefit of talking? 
The physical, intellectual, and spiritual benefit ? The 
power it has to conduce to health and happiness? 
The playful, active child forced into physical restraint, 
and compelled to sit the livelong day in silence, would 
soon pine away and die. He counts the moments as 
they pass; an hour seems an age ; and a whole day, an 
eternity. His restless nature demands action, ~ exercise 
in speaking and playing; and if denied this, consump- 
tion must be the immediate result, or, by the aching 
of his little bones, the agony of his palpitating heart 
and the welling up of his feelings, nature will out in 
bellowing cries and blubbering tears, so that even cry- 
ing is a relief to him and conducive to health. The 
prisoner in solitary confinement, unallowed to open his 
mouth to human beings, soon becomes stupid, moody, 
melancholy, and deranged. For want of society, he' 
soon makes companionship with the figures upon the 
wall, and talks to ideal beings, until his whirling mind 
has wandered too far to return. How many a hus- 
band and wife destroy each other's confidence by not 
speaking a kind word; silence at first has been mis- 
taken for hatred, and each becomes distrustful and 
sullen, until they resolve not to speak for three days. 



84 woman's mission. 

Oh, what a mute home is that I desolate as the grave . 
Nothing but talking can save the peace of the family. 
There must be a good-natured word, or snatch of old 
song to break the silence ; some unexpected, happy 
freak, that shall set the nerves tingling, the pent-up 
spirits leaping, the blood boiling, the risible faculties 
dancing, and the foolish farce is ended by hearty, 
good-natured, side-shaking laughter. Once I knew a 
young wife who had been unfortunate in her choice, 
or her chance for a husband, and had married a spitfire 
of a man. Her only hope now was in speaking kind 
words. So she made it a study, and practised upon 
the art as a musician would to catch the tune. When 
she found the right word touched his ear, and his surly 
countenance lighted up, she would pour into it more 
of the same kind of music. At last she took lessons 
at a singing school for the sole purpose of singing him 
down when cross. And sure enough, when coming in, 
blustering and storming with rage, to be met with 
nothing but sunshine in her smiles, with laughing eyes, 
looking loveliness, and sudden burst of romantic song, 
was a new mode of warfare, which took the wind all 
out of his sails, and left him to sport with the breeze 
of his own folly. He could not stand such an attack, 
he must either yield or run, and by the kind words of 
that wife, the lion has become a lamb, and is now a 
devoted follower of Jesus Christ. That wife has gone 
to her long home. But of such wives it may be said, 
as of the saints coming up out of great tribulation, 
" Their deeds do follow them." 

3. Benefit of Talking. — Talking not only makes a 
man physically happy, but makes him intellectual and 



woman's mission. 85 

religious. Talking sets a man to thinking. If he talks 
about religion, he will think about it ; and as a man 
thinketh, so is he. Thus he becomes religious. Then 
talking produces health, and health makes physical 
happiness. Talking sets to thinking, and thinking 
makes a man naturally religious. Then, talking is 
the gift of God, ordained of heaven. Talking is 
preaching, — and who is better fitted for the task than 
woman ? Said a physician to his patient, " Madam, 
I wish to witness the fever upon your tongue." And 
at once the patient thrust out her tongue, but not to 
the satisfaction of the doctor. " A little farther," said 
he. And still farther appeared the unruly member. 
Again, says the doctor, " A little farther, a little far- 
ther, madam." "O doctor!" said she, "what do you 
mean ? I declare, you must think there is no end to a 
woman's tongue." My object then is not to prevent 
talking, for this would be impossible if desired ; but to 
have the tongue sanctified, and speak for God and 
religion. Women of America! How many of you 
are dying for want of public spiritual exercise ? Dying 
because you have no field of labor? Dying with nothing 
to do ? How many are standing idle, and crying even 
at the eleventh hour, " Because no man hath hired us ?" 
You see the fields already white, and would gladly 
be a Ruth to take the gleanings ; but there is no Boaz 
to welcome you. You hear the cries of suffering hu- 
manity, but are not allowed to speak in its behalf. 
Perhaps your own children are circling on the eddies 
of temptation, but custom forbids you publicly to im- 
plore protection. How many feel the fire pent up in 
their bones, and can scarce forbear speaking, yet would 
be silenced by the church at the utterance of the first 
8 



86 woman's mission. 

word ? How many feel to cry out, " ' Woe is me if I 
preach not the Gospel,' and woe is me if I do ? " Like 
the fiery com'ser, with uneasy mettle prancing, he paw- 
eth the valley, he rolleth the eye, and shaketh the mane ; 
he smelleth the battle afar off, and crieth ah I ha I at 
the sound of the trumpet ; so are many of you panting 
for the race. But against the iron cage of prejudice 
you are fretting and chafing and pining away like a 
bird forced from its native air. You feel crippled, like a 
chained mastifT that knows his place, that sees the 
thief coming, and hears the cry for help, and feels the 
distress of sulTering innocence, yet spends its noble 
strength in biting its chains. By custom caged, cribbed, 
confined, pining away and dying for a chance to 
speak, your heaven-born energies are wasting, and the 
quick steel of your soul is rusting away. But it shall 
not always be so. Preaching has been pulpit-ridden 
long enough. Salaried functionaries dealing out met- 
aphysics never will convert the world. Preaching must 
commence in small circles, in private houses, and upper 
rooms again. The work has already commenced. 
Twenty female missionaries of this city, holding twice 
that number of meetings per week, are busy in the 
work, and five hundred more are panting for the field. 
A mighty change is coming over the spirit of preach- 
ing, — a mighty revolution in the ministrations of the 
word. The dayspring is rising. The glorious mil- 
lennial day is dawning, and its radiant advent shall 
be ushered in by the ministrations of woman I 

4. Is it Scriptural ? — To the law and to the testi- 
mony. Is woman enjoined to speak or keep silence 
in the church? If to keep perfectly silentj then our 



WOMAN'S iMISSION. 87 

Episcopal sisters have broken the injunction, and 
members of Sabbath Schools, and every choir. Noth- 
ing but the bellowing tones of the old organ, and a 
few base voices, escapes anathema. But, "I suffer not 
a woman to teach" by usurping authority over the 
man. Very well ; she may teach without doing this ; 
and let us remember under what abject servitude wo- 
man was held in those times. Like the bonds of ser- 
vants, her bonds could not be broken at once. Her 
rights must be granted by degi*ees. Therefore, to 
allow her to assume peremptory authority would de- 
feat the ends of the gospel. " Let your women keep 
silence in the churches, for it is not permitted unto 
them to speak." This was right for the churches of 
Corinth. They were in difficulty with an incestu- 
ous person, and Corinthian women in all ages have 
been a byword for prostitution. Had they, even though 
converted, been allowed to debate in church trials and 
difficulties, the church would have lost its hold upon 
the public. Some commentators have spent much 
time in striving to prove that Mary Magdalene and 
certain women from Galilee which followed Christ, 
had never been vile women, on the ground that they 
would have brought Christ and his mission into dis- 
repute. Be that as it may, in church trials at Corinth 
they were not to debate ; but if they would learn, let 
them ask their husbands at home. For it were a 
shame for a woman to speak on such business ; she 
would not know when to stop. However, in the same 
church, she was directed how to speak on other oc- 
casions. She was ordered to prophesy with her head 
covered, for the honor of her husband, to show that she 
was in submission, according to oriental customs. And 



88 woman's mission. 

prophesying meant preaching. The apostle says it is 
" Speaking unto men to edification, and exhortation, 
and comfort." No preacher can do more than edify, 
exhort, and comfort. Therefore, if woman prophesied, 
woman preached. And she was ordered to preach in 
the same epistle in which she was commanded to keep 
silence. So, according to the preacher, " To every thing 
there is a season ; a time to speak, and a time to keep 
silence." 

5. Call to Preach. — Hark ! What sounds pierce my 
ears from this under world of woe ? What howlings 
from the caverns of iniquity ? What lamentations from 
the cellars of North Street ? What groans of despair 
from these graves of unburied sufferers? What be- 
wailings that they had ever been born ? What repinings 
that the earth does not cover them ? Hark ! from this 
cesspool of three thousand grog shops, and six hundred 
houses of ill-fame, hear a thousand voices of despair! 
Hark ! Through these voices there is a cry for help. 
These cries make the angels weep. All heaven drops 
tears of pity over their anguish. And has woman 
nothing to do ; no pity for the fallen ; no hand for the 
rescue ? There is one place where she may labor on 
undisputed ground. It is in the Sabbath school, and 
sometimes in the neighborhood prayer meetings. Then 
the first call I present you is from the drunkard's 
children. I almost feel myself the embodiment of 
forlorn orphanage, yea a representative of children 
worse than orphans. With tattered garments, dis- 
hevelled locks, and supplicating voice, I rise from these 
low haunts of vice, and ask your protection. Hunger 
gnaws upon these vitals, sorrow courses my cheek, 



woman's mission. 89 

cold freezes this current of life, and horror racks my 
brain, when I enter into their condition. I fall upon 
my knees and seize your hands, and kiss your feet, 
and pray you to pity me. I now seize from that train 
of culprits, schooled for the prison and the gallows, 
one that knows not his right hand from his left, and as 
yet knows not good from evil. I wipe the filth from 
his lovely face, part his matted locks, and comb his 
silken curls ; with a warm kiss of kindness, I brighten 
his downcast eye, and enliven his features with hope, and 
now dressing him in beauty, I present him before you. 
I ask wherein he differs from the son of fortune or of 
fame ? His eyes are as bright, his hands and organs as 
perfect, his little mind as clear, his countenance as 
fair, — and, is it possible that mere circumstances of 
education will make a saint of one and a fiend of the 
other ? Then Nature has done her part well ; she has 
given him physical, mental, and moral power fit for a 
king, yet he is to be schooled a culprit. Even on this, the 
Sabbath-day, in these back and by-places of wicked- 
ness, are the schools of vice, more frequented than 
our own Sabbath schools. There they are learn- 
ing the language of blasphemy, and are being fa- 
miliarized with crime, until vice appears attractive. 
It is their condition, then, which comes in supplicating 
cries before you. Behold the tearful blue eye looking 
up for pity. Behold the wistful, innocent countenance, 
in anxious suspense, imploring your protection. Be- 
hold the little tender hands pitifully raised for your 
assistance ; hands that have never committed wrong, 
and never would do it, could they have an even chance 
in the world. Hear that importunate cry! That 
tongue has never yet blasphemed. Hear its pitiful 
8* 



90 WOMA^'S MISSION. 

entreaties ! Hear ! oh, hear its cries and heed them ! 
Yes, I adjure you by the blessings left you by your 
fathers and your mothers, by the happy circumstances 
of your own education, by your duty to your neighbor, 
by the high position of influence in which God has 
placed you, by your responsibilities as mothers, by the 
hopes of your own children, by your duty to God and 
humanity, by the widow's tears and the orphan's cries, — 
I adjure you by all that you hold dear on earth, and all 
you hope for in heaven, by the wealth of time and the 
worth of a soul's eternity, by the salvation of your 
own souls and the immortality of theirs, — hear the call 
that God speaks through them, turn them not empty 
away, and spurn them not from your presence. 

6. Call her Children. — This was the cry of an ex- 
cited company in Baltimore. They were standing 
around a couch upon which a mother lay for two days 
suspended between life and death. She had been 
aroused at midnight, and finding her house on fire she 
flew to the rescue of her children. Above the crack- 
ling of the flames she heard the cry, " Mamma ! mam- 
ma! fire! fire! Willie burn! Willie die!" She mounted 
the stairway, dashed open the door, and started to 
plunge in ; but suffocated by the smoke she reeled 
backwards and fell down-stairs. She rose again, and 
seeing the maddening flame at the top of the stairs, 
as a fiery sword between her and her darlings, and still 
■hearing their cry above the roaring flame, she started, 
all frantic, to leap into the choking flame, but fell 
stifled to the floor. A stream from the engine brought 
her to her senses, and the firemen bore her to the street. 
But when she heard the crash of the falling building, 



woman's mission. 91 

and thought of her children, she swooned and fell into a 
fit from which there seemed no hope of recovery. Once 
or twice her nerves twitched, her lips muttered, her eyes 
glared, her teeth grated, and nature rallied for a mo- 
ment, but with a deep shudder she sunk into shades 
of forgetfulness again. Hours passed by ; she knew 
not her friends, nor time, nor sweet cordial. Once she 
suddenly stretched out her hands and cried " fire ! fire ! " 
but stopped as one dead. Life now appeared extinct. 
Many gathered round, weeping as for one departed. 
By chance a child prattled in the room. The sound 
struck her ear as a voice from iieaven. Suddenly her 
fingers moved, her pulse beat, a flash lighted her fea- 
tures, and a ghastly smile ; but it seemed like the last 
gasp of the dying, and she became unconscious again. 
" Call her children," was the cry of the bystanders. 
And forthwith the children were seated upon her bed, 
but she was too far gone to heed them. At last her 
dearest one, — if a mother can have one dearer than an- 
other, — climbed up farther towards her head, and plac- 
ing his lips close to her ear he cried, " Mamma! wake up I 
Willie live : Willie live ! " And, as if touched by an 
electric spring, her eyes opened, she gazed upward in 
vacancy, and muttered some incongruous sounds, as 
if talking with spirits from another world. For a 
moment she gazed, then closed her eyes again. The 
three children now assembled close to her head and 
commenced singing. The music roused her senses 
and called back her wandering spirit, and with rapture 
she arose and embraced her children, with all the 
heaven-born tenderness of a mother's love. There is 
a moral in this. If a mother's sympathies for the 
cause of temperance and humanity have become dor- 



92 woman's mission. 

mant, and she hath lost her interest, then "Call her 
children." See if their danger, their exposure to temp- 
tation will not stir a mother's blood. " Call her chil- 
dren" to that mother who is despairing in poverty and 
can find no work, and see if ways and means will not 
be opened, atid new energies awakened. " Call her 
children," to that dying mother, if you would win a 
smile with which to bless the world in her dying mo^ 
ments. " Call her children " to that lifeless church 
whose heart-throbbings are apparently dead to all vital 
godliness. Let the call be, not to the watchmen, not 
to the doctors, for the metaphysical drugs of the doc- 
tors have already produced stupefaction ; but " Call 
her children." Let every woman and child raise their 
voices, and see if they do not awaken an interest in the 
church, a music on many a cottage floor, that shall ring 
from heart to heart, and house to house, far above the 
wails of sorrow, as the voice of many waters. " Call 
her children," then, and the church shall rise and put 
on her beautiful garments, and shall be as the " voice 
-of my beloved leaping upon the mountains, and as the 
rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys." 

7. Another Call. — We present another call — one 
all momentous to your sex. By a statement published 
in the Friend of Virtue, there are six thousand cypri- 
ans in this city. Their average life is four years ; 
therefore, more than one thousand die annually. A 
thousand lost souls a year! Twenty at the ringing 
of every Sabbath's bells — more perhaps than are con- 
verted by all the pulpits of this city. They come 
mostly from the country, and many of them from 
Maine. They come flushed with health and beauty, 



woman's mission. 93 

beaming with hope, innocent and unsnspccting, and 
how soon are they caught by the ensnarer I A silly 
dream of pleasure, hope that dies with the hour, and 
now shame, remorse, despair, death, and 1he midnight 
hearse rumbles ; motherless and friendless they go 
through the dark streets, to the field where a thousand 
broken hearts are piled together in one year, — a thou- 
sand persons that might have been happy wives, happy 
mothers, and filling happy homes, — a company aver- 
aging three congregations of this city, — a company 
that, joining hand to hand, would extend half a mile. 
Think of it. One half mile of human beings, once 
innocent, now broken-hearted, marching in mournful 
procession to harlots' graves I O thou Author of 
Christianity ! Thou who receiveth sinners and eateth 
with them ! Thou who came not to call the righteous, 
but sinners ! Thou whose feet were bathed with the 
tears of redeemed harlots I Is there no power to reach 
them now ? No eye to pity ? No ear to hear their 
cries ? No hand to save ? Look down, O Lord ! in 
mercy, if there be mercy in store for such poor, pitiful 
mortals, and send thy gospel among them. If man 
refuse to go, and, like Jonah, take a pleasure trip while 
the city is threatened with judgments, let woman be 
called to the holy mission of the gospel again. Hark I 
What sound is this from North Street? A cyprian 
is dying. She is the daughter of a clergyman from 
Maine. The sound comes from a low, damp, dark 
cavern, far from the eyes of the street. The floor is 
becoming wet, yea, flooded, with the tide of ocean. 
In the direction of the moan, by a dim light, we wend 
our way. We tread upon the plank floating above 
the floor, and pass to the second and third back eel- 



94 woman's mission. 

lar. A dim oil-lamp discloses two or three fiends in 
human shape, watching the dying. They watch not 
for good, but are anxious for the last breath. A pine 
box is waiting, the wagon is engaged, and the old 
hag of the den, all blossomed with rum, is uneasy that 
the poor victim is not dead. Impatience rankles on 
each visage, the cellar must be cleared for new comers, 
and there are no thoughts of pity. Now from the full 
depths of that dying heart comes a sigh, now a shud- 
dering groan, and all is still; the current of life for a 
moment is suspended. There is a storm in Boston 
harbor ; the waves roar and break in angry surges, the 
shore is shaken with convulsions, and the loud winds 
are wailing with the mothers of Maine. But she 
heeds it not ; her thoughts are far away, on youth's 
sunny hill-side ; and home, and now the thoughts of 
dying here, startle her, and a tempest swells her soul. 
Terrified with horrible phantoms, she wakes; she 
twitches and jerks like a fish upon the hook, and open- 
ing her eyes, and seeing her Satanic watchers greedy 
for her corse, her brain whirls, and she dreams of hell. 
And now the tide has turned, the willing waters re- 
treat, and her life is ebbing with the tide. Dying 
cadences from a heart once taught to pray, are mur- 
muring from her lips, like the voice of moaning winds 
from an ocean cave. She whispers of home : " My 
mother ! oh, my mother ! would she forgive me ? " A 
sigh, a gasp, a look of horror, and she dies. O Maine ! 
Thou first of the sisters of the East ! Thou child of 
the rising sun ! Weep and howl over the fate of thy fair 
daughters ! Thy green forest winds moan and lament 
in sighs that shudder on Massachusetts' coast. Thy 
Penobscot and thy Kennebec roll down in floods of 



woman's mission. 05 

anguish, and their reluctant waves, following thy 
wandering maids, madly dash for vengeance in Bos- 
ton harbor. Now into these dark cellars they creep 
stealthily, to take the last look of fallen humanity, and 
weep where mothers are not allowed to shed a tear. 

Boston! Thou stronghold of infidelity I Thou 
Babylon of iniquity ! Thou Golgotha of New Eng- 
land ! Oh, that thou hadst known the things that 
belong to thy peace I Thy religion hath too little vital, 
regenerating power in it. One or two philosophical 
discourses per week will not save thy people from their 
sins. Thy shedding of infidel tears over the poor 
slave on Carolina's coast, doth not prevent the death 
of a thousand persons in thine own bosom — a thousand 
dying within the hearing of thy Sabbath bells — a 
thousand groans beneath the very eaves of thy sanctu- 
aries — a thousand slaves whose bondage is a thousand- 
fold more to be deplored than that of flesh and blood 
and bolts and bars and iron chains. Yet, fifty persons 
reclaimed from this bondage would awaken but little 
sensation, and an anniversary occasion would scarcely 
call out a quorum ; but let a slave escape from the 
south, and the city is in jubilee. O consistency ! thou 
art a jewel — a jewel rarely to be found, and thy hab- 
itation is past finding out. 

8. Woman, to the Rescue ! — In the politics of Boston 

1 meddle not. Her public spirit, her schools, her libra- 
ries, and her deeds of charity need no encomium from 
me, — they are beyond praise. But as a preacher of 
righteousness, it is my duty to point out spiritual evils, 
and their remedy. I will not now speak of the relig- 
ion of that congregation, the largest in Boston, which 



96 WOMAN'S MISSION. 

assembles weekly to hear the Bible condemned. I will 
not speak of those assembled thousands who could 
applaud a public speaker for calling on God to damn 
Massachusetts for not breaking from the union. Such 
things, when left alone, work out their own remedy, if 
orthodoxy be true to its creed. But here is the diffi- 
culty : Orthodoxy itself cannot allow live Holy-Ghost 
religion, and Holy-Ghost preaching, without anathe- 
matizing it as fanaticism. Many of the best of her 
saints have been shut up in prison, or hospitals, and 
treated as maniacs. Prejudice and bigotry have 
seized them, and poison has softened their brains, and 
deprived them of their senses, and they are now con- 
versing with ideal images upon the w^alls of their cells. 
I intend to speak of several of these cases, in a volume 
entitled " Scenes from the Prison," and I verily believe 
if some church officials could have had their will, I my- 
self would have been one of that number. And once 
in the hands of physicians, who have no sympathy 
with spiritual effusions, who think all revealed religion 
insanity, who allow no worship in the institution, not 
even the poor form of a prayer — once taken in such 
hands, and I would not give a cent for my life. By 
their drugs and poisons I should have been salivated 
and ulcerated, until my brain had festered under my 
hair, and run out of my ears, and without a crime, 
without an unchristian action, without a moment's 
aberration of mind in my life, I should now perhaps 
have been a gibbering, mouthing idiot. But, blessed 
be God ! when the Pharisees turned against me, when 
religious journals condemned me, when the priests and 
Levites passed on the other side, when the few hun- 
dred dollars I could then raise, of my own earnings, 
were all gone, when the one hundred my poor mother 



woman's mission. 97 

gave me from her sewing money, were nearly exhausted, 
and when fate would seem to decree that I must leave 
Boston as a fanatic, despised and rejected of men, 
then it was that God called the Marys and the Marthas 
to my rescue, and, by their holy devotion to his cause, 
many a poor wanderer has been converted to God. If 
I succeed, under God, in doing any permanent good in 
this city, I owe it to the ministrations of woman. Oh ! 
may I never prove unworthy of so generous a sacrifice ; 
may I never forget the names of those who rescued me ; 
and may you, in years to come, never regret that you 
cast your fortunes with one who was unpopular among 
his brethren. 

9. Woman'' s Fidelity. — Who are these which are 
arrayed in white robes ; and whence come they ? 
These that came out of great tribulations, and have 
washed their robes and made them white in the blood 
of the Lamb ? These that shall be led by the living 
fountains of waters, and shall hunger not, neither shall 
they thirst any more ? These that are redeemed from 
among men, being the first fruits unto God and the 
Lamb ? These that are not defiled, for they are vir- 
gins ? These that follow the Lamb whithersoever he 
goeth ? While the disciples were few, who were the 
" many " that followed Jesus, and ministered to him of 
their substance ? Who left husbands and homes in 
Galilee, and followed on foot for seventy miles, to 
listen to his teachings ? Who was glad to bathe the 
feet of Jesus, while a proud Simon refused oil for his 
head? Who loved much because she was forgiven 
much ? Who preached the first gospel sermon in Sa- 
maria ? Who watched the dying Son of God when 
the pale and cowardly disciples had fled ? When one 
9 



98 



woman's mission. 



had sold out his conscience for money, and another had 
denied him with an oath, who still lingered round, and 
gazed and wept, sighing with his sighs and shuddering 
with his groans, pouring out her soul in his agony ? 
Who followed the mangled corse to its last resting 
place, and sat over against the sepulchre weepino-? 
Who were the last to leave the sepulchre at evening, 
and the first to visit it on the resurrection morn ? Who 
was the first to see Jesus after he had risen? 
Who received the first commission to preach on the 
resurrection ? Who preached the first gospel sermon, 
and how was it received by the apostles ? Just as her 
story of the cross is received now-a-days by faithless 
disciples — " And their words seemed to them as idle 
tales, and they believed them not." 

" Not she with traitorous kiss tlie Saviour stung ; 
Not she denied hira with unholy tongue ; 
She, while apostles slirank, could dangers brave, 
Last at his cross, and earliest at his grave." 

10. Accepting the C«//. — Has woman's commission 
expired ? Is there no Mary now to proclaim a risen 
Jesus ? No Magdalene to wash his feet ? No Joanna 
to minister to him of her substance ? No Priscilla and 
Junia to follow him to prison, and lay down their necks 
for his cause ? No Tryphena and Tryphosa to preach 
the word ? No beloved Persis who labored much in the 
Lord ? No Phoebe to preside over the church ; and no 
daughters of Philip to proclaim the teachings and 
unctions of the Holy Ghost? Are the times so 
changed ? Should woman preach until the tenth cen- 
tury, and then by the hand of popery be crushed out 
when most needed? Shall the vitals of progressive 
Christianity be torn out by silencing the tongue of 
woman? No I iVb .' God of the gospel forbid ! The 



woman's mission. 09 

same voice that proclaimed to the faithless and timid 
disciples a risen Jesus, shall yet awaken the dormant 
energies of a lifeless Christianity, and swell the throb- 
bings of her soul with holy ardor, as in olden time. 
The voice of two-thirds of the church shall not always 
be kept dumb. The spirit of Christianity is the spirit of 
freedom, and freedom is immortal. Though crushed to 
earth, it shall rise again, and though shackled by forms, 
its fetters are not eternal. Come, then, ye holy women 
of modern times; come, and assert your rights. Come, 
and preach the gospel in primitive simplicity. Preach 
in upper rooms and private houses ; preach, like John 
the Baptist, by exhortations ; and teach, like Priscilla, 
the great Apollos, the way of holiness. Come from the 
battle field, ye that minister to the fallen brave. Come, 
ye Florence Nightingales. Come from Edom, with 
dyed garments from Bozrah. Your garments are red ; 
ye are glorious in your apparel, when ye come forth 
with the blessings of the wounded. Come from the 
prison, ye that comfort the mourning. Come, ye Eliza- 
beth Frys ; your countenances are sweet, and a halo of 
glory circles your brows, when you follow your Master 
to the spu'its in prison. Come from the highways of 
holiness. Come, ye women that tread the old paths of 
sanctification. Come, ye Phoebe Palmers. When the 
watchmen sleep, and the standard is hung at half-mast, 
let a woman raise it to the top-mast of the gospel. 
When the " highways are unoccupied, and the travel- 
lers walk through by-ways, and the inhabitants of the 
villages cease," because of the enemy, then let a Deb- 
orah arise — a mother in Israel, that shall guide the 
timid Baraks to battle. Welcome, ye heralds of 
mercy I Welcome, ye messengers of peace I Wei- 



100 WOMA^J'S MISSION. 

come, ye that bind up the broken-hearted, and ye that 
comfort the mom-ning! Welcome to the waste places 
of Zion ! Welcome to the high position that ye once 
enjoyed in the early days of the gospel! Welcome to 
the leadership of bands, as in Wesley's time I Wel- 
come be your voice in our prayer meetings ! Then, 
awake, O woman, to your duty! By your gratitude 
for what the gospel has done for you, awake ! It found 
you a slave, with chains forged by the customs of ages. 
It found you in the harem, bought and sold at the hus- 
band's will. You had no voice, and lived as one without 
a soul. Your chains stretched from ocean to ocean, and 
your silence was as the grave. The trump of the gos- 
pel sounded, and a hemisphere of women awoke to the 
resurrection. A few faithful women followed what 
appeared a lone wanderer and an outcast over the hills 
of Judea ; then saw their leader slain. They saw him 
risen again, and in his resurrection the crowning glory 
of woman. She first proclaimed it, and a continent of 
enchained women heard entranced. She proclaimed it 
in household groups, by the fireside, and through the 
voice of growing children, and the gospel spread as 
fire through dry stubble. The apostle to the Gentiles 
speaks of nine female laborers at Rome before he set 
foot in the world's capital. The star of woman's em- 
pire rose with the gospel, and sunk with it in the dark 
ages. When Methodism arose, her voice was heard 
again, and every member was enjoined to speak. But 
in America, the great development of woman's gifts in 
spreading the gospel is yet to be. 

11. Her Sphere of Action. — Woman's sphere of 
action may not be in the conflict of battle, not on the 



woman's mission. 101 

political arena, nor even perhaps in the pulpit. Home 
is the throne of her influence ; the social circle, the 
theatre of her action ; and prayer, the lever of her power. 
Religion forms her train, charity fills her court, mercy is 
her prime counsellor, and humanity her subjects. Where 
poverty pines, she relieves it; where suffering cries, she 
pities it, and where innocence is assailed, she flees to 
the rescue. She visits the fatherless and widows in 
their affliction, and feels that, inasmuch as she has done 
it unto the least of these, she has done it unto Christ. 
Man may coldly discuss his religion from the pulpit, 
and clearly convince the head : She, by live, warm 
action, convinces and moves the heart. A holy living, 
full of feeling and faith, is the mightiest logic. Man 
may move the arm of state and of battle ; she moves 
the heart that moves the arm. To reform an evil 
world, man resorts to politics and to war; she to God, 
in earnest prayer. Man rages as the fire, the whirl- 
wind, and the storm ; she, all godlike, speaks in the 
still, small voice. He may thrill and terrify ; she will 
melt and subdue. Her influence is the leaven that 
worketh silently, and perhaps slowly, but surely. The 
sunbeams are voiceless and noiseless ; yet, beneath their 
silent rays, winter yields, snows melt, waters flow, 
flowers bloom, fruits appear. So, beneath the genial 
smiles of wom^n, earth is made almost a paradise. 
Her influence is silent as the sunbeams, gentle as the 
dews of heaven, soft as the breath of violets, and sweet 
as the zephyr's flow. When sanctified by religion, her 
eyes sparkle with heavenly rhetoric, her voice charms 
with holy music, and her countenance beams with the 
radiance of the King of righteousness. Where mor- 
ality prevails, she holds the universe of man : where 
9* 



102 woman's mission. 

religion is in the ascendant, she makes the world an 
Eden. 

12. Tlie Bride and her Croivn. — Woman represents 
the church — a bride, purchased by the King's Son. 
" Come hither, I will show you the bride, the Lamb's 
wifeo" " Behold a woman clothed with the sun, and 
the moon under her feet, and upon her head a crown of 
twelve stars." The church has had her tribulations, in 
all ages; her garments are red with the blood of m»artyrs; 
she hath been gored by persecution, and even now infi- 
delity assails and hell moves from beneath to rob her 
of her crown; yet her coronation day is at hand, and 
all the kingdoms of the Avorld shall be given to her for 
a possession. All hail ! thou beauteous bride ! thou 
bride of the Great King. He hath sought thee, and 
found thee in thy low estate, and purchased thee with 
his own blood. " He hath clothed thee with the robe 
of righteousness, even as a bride adorneth herself with 
jewels." "Oh, thou fairest among women! thy cheeks 
are comely with rows of jewels, thy neck with chains 
of gold." " Behold, thou art fair, my love ; behold, 
thou art fair ; thou hast dove's eyes, thy voice is sweet, 
thy countenance is comely, and thou feedest among 
the lilies I " " Who is this that cometh out of the wil- 
derness, like pillars of smoke, perfumed with myrrh, 
and frankincense, and with all powders of the mer- 
chantman ? Who is this that cometh up from the 
wilderness, leaning upon her beloved? She cometh 
from beds of spices, and from the hills of frankincense. 
She looketh forth as the morning, fair as the moon, 
clear as the sun, and terrible as an army with banners. 
Go forth, oh ye daughters ! and behold the crowning of 



woman's mission. 103 

the bride, on the day of her espousals. Awake, oh 
north wind ; and came thou, south, with the breath of 
spices!" " Let us rejoice and be glad, for the marriage 
of the Lamb is come, and his wife hath made herself 
ready." " Blessed are they which are called unto the 
marriage supper of the Lamb." " And I heard a great 
voice of much people in heaven, saying, Alleluia ! " 
And the elders before the throne sing Alleluia ! And 
a great multitude, as the voice of many waters, sing 
Alleluia ! And the angels of God sing Alleluia I 
And the bridegroom and the bride sing Alleluia ! And 
the twelve stars upon her crown sing Alleluia I 
And the moon beneath her feet sings Alleluia! And 
the suns around her waist sing Alleluia ! And all the 
hosts of heaven sing Alleluia ! For her crowning day 
is at hand, and the bride hath made herself ready. 

13. Apostrophy to the Church. — O thou whom my 
soul loveth ! Thou fairest among the daughters of earth ! 
Thou wast once banished from thy father's house, and 
because of sin thou wast hurried out of Eden. The 
rocks and caves of the wilderness were thy portion, and 
the dragons of the desert thy companions. There 
thou wast enslaved by sin, till thy father's image was 
well-nigh erased from thy person. The?e thou didst 
pine, until found out by the King's Son ; he heard thy 
wailings, left his royal mansion, and stripped himself 
of the glory he had with the Father, became poor and 
a man of sorrow, and trod the wine-press of the wrath 
of God for thy redemption. He hath led captivity 
captive, and purchased gifts for the rebellious. Yea, 
he hath entered the grave for thy rescue ; such was his 
love for thee, oh thou meek-eyed, lovely bride ! He 



104 woman's mission. 

has won thee and wedded thee, but thou hast no 
dower to bring to thy husband, and no ornament for 
thy beauty, except the ornament of a meek and quiet 
spirit. Oh, captive daughter of Zion! I love thee; 
I love thee because of thy jiieekness ; I love thee be- 
cause of thy sufferings ; I love thee because Christ 
loved thee, and died for thee ; and I love thee because 
thou hast first loved me. When a wild, wayward boy 
of seventeen, sporting with the wine-cup, sporting with 
the wild chimera of free thought, cutting my cable 
from every strand of revelation, and dashing furiously 
on the breakers of infidelity, thou didst seize me from 
ruin, didst pour upon me the tears of thy sympathy, 
and feed me with the viands of thy love. Thou hast 
been more than a mother to me. What I am, have 
been, and hope for, I owe to thee. While many of my 
companions have filled drunkards' graves, and some of 
my youthful associates are now pining in the prison, 
and others reeling above ground, worse than dead, I 
have been taken from the horrible pit, rescued from the 
snare of the fowler, and plucked as a brand from the 
burning. And this I owe to thee, O daughter of 
Zion, thou child of the great King! To thee I owe a 
debt of g*g.titude, which nothing but a whole life can 
repay. What little of life I now have remaining, I 
place upon thy altar. Almighty God ! accept the sac- 
rifice. This body is weak, this frame is bowed with 
infirmity, this cheek is prematurely furrowed with care, 
and this heart hath been riven by unlooked-for trials ; 
but grant me, O thou Son of God I to sound the trump 
of the gospel a few times more, and awake thy slum- 
bering bride to her duty. Let me have one jewel to 
place among her ornaments, one soul brought home to 
God, one star in the crown of my rejoicing. 



ADDRESS TO PRISONERS. 



The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord hath anointed 
me to preach good tidings unto the meek, he hath sent me to bind up the 
broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the cajitives, and the opening of the 
prison to them that are bound — Isaiah 61 : 1. 

Fellow-Prisoners I Men in bonds ! I come to 
weep with those that weep, and mourn with those that 
mourn. I come to give the oil of joy for mourning, and 
the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness. Suf- 
fering is the lot of humanity ; it is an active principle 
in both the natural and moral w^orld. The lamb that 
to-day may skip and play, may bleed for man to-mor- 
row. The fish in frolic with the finny tribe is caught 
in the net for the food of man ; and the dove from its 
innocent and love caresses is shot for the table of the 
epicure. The grape is bruised to obtain its juice ; and 
the flower is crushed to bring out its odor ; the bee is 
killed to procure its honey ; the pearl oyster dies to 
yield the pearl ; and the silk-worm perishes to adorn 
the frame of some fair bride. So in the moral world, 
the greatest and best men that ever lived have suffered, 
and many of them in prisons. A long array of proph- 
ets and apostles attests this fact, from the dungeon 
of Jeremiah, the prison house of Joseph, and that of 
Micaiah with his bread and water of affliction, down 
to Paul, Peter, and James. And they have all suffered 

105 



106 ADDRESS TO PRISONERS. 

on account of sin, either for their own sins or those 
of others. And to the Christian afflictions are the 
furnace that shall purify him in his experience, as 
gold is tried in the fire, or as silver purified seven times 
in the furnace of earth. Jesus Christ is said to be 
perfected through suffering. Ye are suffering for sin, 
and for your own sins ; and even to you, this suffering 
has its advantage. It cuts you away from your crimes, 
and humbles you, and bruises you in the mortar of 
affliction, until your wounded spirit, perhaps, chooses 
strangling and death, rather than life. To you, then, 
in the name of Jesus, I have come to bind up the* 
broken-hearted and proclaim liberty to the captive. 
There is but one principle that can give you freedom. 
This is faith. Just by believing in Jesus, your fetters 
may fall off; and, like Paul and Silas, ye may, by a 
song or a shout, be freemen. In searching among the 
hidden things of God's word you will find an old key, 
which has been used many times by prisoners ; yet it is 
not worn out, but is as bright as ever, and has never 
failed to release the captive when properly applied. 
This key is called promise. The hand that takes this 
key is faith ; it lays hold of the promises of God. 
This is not all. You now start for the door; but the 
moment you do this you tremble ; you are afraid of 
the keepers because you are guilty. You now pass 
through the dark apartments of contrition and repent- 
ance, to find the door and then the outer gate. This 
door that keeps you back is personal unbelief ; that is, 
a belief that salvation may be for others, but not for 
yourself. The outer gate is general infidelity. It 
opens the way to the lowest cells of the prison, and to 
the lowest crimes, because its followers have no fear 



ADDRESS TO PRISONERS. 107 

of God before their eyes. Going inward and down- 
ward, these doors are unbelief; but going outward, 
Christ is the door or deliverer. In the darkness and 
gloom of repentance, you long to present your petition 
for pardon to the governor's ear ; and none can do it 
with so much success as yourself. Therefore, while 
composing the words of your petition and forming 
your confession, you see a faint light break through 
the grates, towards the door. That glimmering is the 
light of the spirit, the light of hope ; just enough to 
lead you on. As you come to the door, you pause for 
a moment at the intricacies of the lock. With the 
keen eye of a rogue you examine it ; you have tried it 
many times before, have melted and forged many false 
keys to fit it ; but all your efforts heretofore have 
failed. This lock is sophistry — infidel reasoning. 
The wards of it are so intricate, that no natural eye 
can see into them ; and the bolts are so strong, that 
none but an adept can turn them. I see you now 
grow pale at the lock, and you fear lest the keepers 
should discover you endeavoring to escape. These 
keepers are the strong men armed of the Devil ; and 
w^hen they seize a man trying to escape they torment 
him with buffetings, lashings, strait jackets, and the 
choking shower bath, which many times make him 
despair of life. I see your hair stand erect, and your 
eyes roll in horror, and you almost see the guards 
pointing the weapon at your heart, and almost hear 
the sound of its death. You are half inclined to go 
back, so horrified is your blood through fear. At this 
moment you discover hanging to your key a seal ; it 
has been the seal of many a death warrant, though so 
closely connected with Promise. Promises and threat- 



108 ADDRESS TO PRISONERS. 

enings go hand in hand. Holding it up to the light 
you observe the following words : ''The fearful and 
unbelieving shall have their part in the lake which 
burneth with fire and brimstone, which is the second 
death." Ah! now you tremble at more terrible powers 
than the watchmen, and with deeper agony than the 
remorse of murder. You say, " I thought a man 
would be punished for his crimes, and not for his 
belief." Yes, sir ; but all crimes may be washed away 
by the blood of the atonement ; but unbelief never can 
be : " he that believeth shall be saved ; but he that 
believeth not shall be damned." Unbelief is the only 
sin which cannot be forgiven ; theft and murder can 
be washed out ; but unbelief destroys the atonement 
from whence cometh all pardon ; therefore it commits 
the unpardonable sin, by counting the blood of the 
covenant an unholy thing, and treading under foot 
the Son of God. Then, sir, flee for your life ; seize 
the key at once and force your passage. " But I can- 
not turn the key." Ah, sir, faith will do that ; it is only 
for thee to lay hold and make an effort. " Then I 
cannot open the door without a great noise, a creaking 
of the bars, ringing of the alarm bell, and waking of 
the watch-dog; then come the guards upon me and I 
am a dead man." You will die if you remain where 
you are, and die if you go back ; and you can but die 
if you go forward. Allow me to tell you a secret. 
When you were composing your petition for the ears 
of the governor, you saw a stranger passing through 
your apartment; he looked demure and sad, as if he 
were a man of sorrow, and there were scars on his 
hands, and on his temples. You thought him a spy, 
trying to discover the thoughts of your escape, and 



ADDRESS TO PRISONERS. 109 

you were afraid of him. That stranger was your 
friend, a friend that sticketh closer than a brother. He 
had ordered, in his will, a large possession for thee, — a 
splendid mansion and wide domain, — and he came a 
vast distance, to find thee in thy low estate. When 
he had intimations of thy desire to escape, he came, 
and overhearing thy petition, he carried it to the gov- 
ernor, and employed a special pleader for thy case, to 
intercede with groanings that could not be uttered. 
That friend now stands without, at the door, and waits 
to meet thee. The guards are all struck down with a 
deep sleep, as they were on the resurrection morn, and 
their weapons are taken away, and the alarm bell of 
death hath lost its tongue and terror, and the hell-dog 
is appeased by blood. Then away, sir, with your life, 
away, away ! Thy friend with tears bids thee come ; 
he tarries long for thy relief ; his " head is filled with 
dew, and his locks with the drops of the night." He 
has a feast prepared, and invites thee to sup with him. 
Hear his voice. " Behold I stand at the door and 
knock, if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I 
will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with 
me." 

" Behold a stranger at the door, 
He gently knocks, has knocked before, 
Has waited long, is Avaiting still ; 
You ti*eat no other friend so ill. 
But will he prove a friend indeed ? 
He will — the very friend you need." 

Oh I how many a prisoner has come thus far and halted. 
How many have become almost Christians, and yet have 
been lost I How many an Agrippa will say, " almost 
thou persuadest me ! " How many a Felix will trem- 
ble, and then say, " go thy way for this time." 
10 



^^^ ADDRESS TO PRISONERS. 

O sir, wilt thou not with me be a /e//oz^-prisoner, a 
"prisoner of hope?" And may not I call you all 
« fellow-prisoners ? " Rise, then, and stand upon your 
feet I Burst off the fetters of sin ! Lay hold of the key 
of promise ; and, with a faith that takes no denial, seizing 
the iron gates of unbelief, and nerved with the strength 
of Omnipotence, dash open her God-opposing bars ; 
and Samson like, shouldering both the doors and thJ 
pillars of infidelity, stand 'and walk in the strength and 
majesty of new-born freedom, glorying in the first 
efforts of her growing might. There I I see one person 
whose countenance lights up with hope. He has been 
pale, dejected, and despairing, for a long time ; he has 
heard of a chance to escape, but dare not embrace it, 
because having nothing but this piebald prison garb, 
he would not be received at head quarters, and when 
inquired of, would be speechless ; and the latter end 
would be worse than the first. But now hope gleam- 
ing through the grates, shows him a wardrobe, just 
without the gate, for discharged prisoners, purchased 
by a friend to prisoners, who had died and left them 
these robes, called robes of righteousness. And more 
than tliis, he discovers hanging upon the wall a com- 
plete armor, which against his enemies will protect 
him from tip to toe. And still more, for his famishing 
frame, worn down to a mere skeleton by fatigue, suffer- 
ing, and hunger, he sees bread there. It is called the 
bread of life, because by eating it he shall not die. 
There is manna also, called the hidden manna of love. 
And there, gurgling as from a well, is water, called the 
water of salvation. It flows from the river of God's 
pleasure, and is springing up unto everlasting life. 
And there are wine and oil, and milk, called the wine 



ADDRESS TO PKISOXERS. Ill 

of the kingdom, oil of gladness, and the sincere milk 
of the word. All this is without money and without 
price. Oh, the goodness and mercy of God, for this 
unspeakable gift! The sense of such great favors, 
offered to one so unworthy, quite overcomes him. So 
vile, so guilty, condemned even by the uneven justice 
of earthly courts, a worm, ay, worse, a fiend, a mere 
apology for a man ; yet that God should condescend 
to forgive, what even the wicked world would not, 
and pity him, and feed him, and clothe him, and free 
him, and arm him, and still more, to crown him and 
give him a kingdom. Oh, it was more subduing than 

" That kind, upbraiding look, 
Which broke unfaithful Peter's heart V 

And then, when all earthly friendship fails, when his 
companions could assist him no more, when the last 
kind offices of a brother are at an end, a brother who 
hazarded his reputation, sacrificed his substance, and 
lingered around the last trial till all was over, — even 
then, to have a friend that sticketh closer than a brother, 
to seek out and find the lost, to come uncalled for, and 
wait to be gracious, and to a stranger and an enemy, 
and yet more a villain, — this brings convictions of 
his total unfitness for the society of so good a being. 
Convictions, pungent, piercing, and heart-rending, now 
overwhelm his soul. Whether he is in the body he 
knows not ; but in spiritual courts that soul is now 
arraigned for judgment. There stands stern, unpitying 
justice, blind to all tears, and deaf to all prayers, hold- 
ing in her right hand the even balance, weighing every 
crime, every tittle of crime, even to the utmost atom. 
Nothing is presented in favor; all is condemnatory. 



112 ADDRESS TO PRISONERS. 

Broken Sabbaths, gaming, lying, swearing, stealing, 
down to the last thought and look, are all weighed. 
Inexorable judgment demands — " to the law and to the 
testimony," and unfeeling Law knows no mercy. To 
add to the horror, an unexpected witness is brought to 
the stand. It was his own familiar friend in whom he 
trusted, who did eat of his bread, yet did lift up his 
heel against him. His name is Conscience. When 
an appeal is made to the Law and to the testimony, 
Conscience is compelled to testify to all his secret sins, 
which before had been undiscovered. And no sooner is 
this done, than Law, Justice, and Judgment all clamor 
for vengeance, and he is hurried away to the dark, cold 
cells of despair. Oh how, out of Christ, can the sinner 
be saved ? Oh, the agony of law-alarming conviction ! 
Oh, the bitterness of contrition's tears ! To him the 
darkness seems as the shadow of death ; he is full of 
tossings, to and fro, unto the dawning of day. When 
the couch should comfort him, then is he scared with 
dreams and terrified through visions. In answer to 
his wailings, pestilential winds sigh through the grates. 
The damp droppings from the ceiling mingle with the 
clammy sweat from his brow ; and upon his chains 
scalding tears mix wdth the blisters of his wounds. 
Armed sentinels of justice are watching him; and, more 
terrible than all the rest, there stands before him a 
monster, with a spear in his hand and a crown upon 
his head. He is called the King of Terrors. His 
frame is a skeleton ; he has no breathing organs, and 
no power to use his spear ; but Law gives nerve to his 
arm, and makes every bone instinct with life, and 
furious as a gored bull of Bashan. His spear is called 
Sin, and the strength of sin is the law. He comes 



ADDRESS TO PRISONERS. 113 

silently up to the culprit, and placing the spear near 
the eye, cries out, " an eye for an eye, a tooth for a 
tooth, and death for death ; the soul that sinneth it 
shall die." The spear has several prongs, which pierce 
all his senses, but more especially the " lusts of the eye, 
the lusts of the flesh, and the pride of life." These 
afflictions, however, are but mortal ; but now the prongs, 
passing through the senses, hot with hissing agony, all 
unite and enter the heart, linking pang on pang and 
year on year, with eternal tortures. Oh, now comes the 
bitterness of his soul ! Now he would curse the day 
in which he was born, and cry, " let it be darkness, let 
darkness and the shadow of death stain it, let a cloud 
dwell upon it, and let the blackness of the day terrify 
it. O thou sword of the Lord, how long ere thou be 
quiet ? Oh that my grief were thoroughly weighed ! Oh 
that God would grant the thing that I long for! Oh that 
I knew where I might find him ; that I might come 
even to his seat ! Oh wretched man that I am ! who 
shall deliver me from the body of this death '' O God, 
in thee will I put my trust ; for thou alone art my 
strength and refuge. At this he hears a voice crying, 
" Arise, prisoner, and stand upon thy feet, because the 
Lord hath anointed me to preach good tidings unto 
the meek ; he hath sent me to bind up the broken- 
hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the 
opening of the prison to them that are bound." " I am 
sought of them that asked not for me, I am found of 
them that sought me not." He is astonished that any 
voice should notice a wretch like him. Now, light and 
peace and joy break in upon his soul. The moment 
he makes an effort to rise his fetters fall off*, faith 
makes him bold as a lion, he cries out, " I have found 
10* 



114 ADDRESS TO PRISONERS. 

him ! I have found him ! Who shall lay any thing to the 
charge of God's elect?" At this the King drops his 
spear, the strength of his arm is broken, the doors fly 
open, the prisoner throws down his skull-cap for a 
helmet, and, seizing a sword and shield, he shouts, 
" Victory ! victory ! victory I " Now there is a mighty 
hubbub among the guards and prisoners. The pris- 
oners think him nothing short of a madman, in making 
so bold and sudden an attempt to escape ; and nothing 
but a maniac, in shouting at the moment of deliver- 
ance. The guards being filled with the wine of 
astonishment, now make a desperate onslaught upon 
him ; but clad in mail and completely armed, he is 
invulnerable to their strokes. But as his example 
before the other captives may be dangerous, all their 
,'powers, both coercive and persuasive, are combined 
for his subjection. Strokes not availing, they try the 
goddess of Persuasion. She states to him that " It is 
well for all captives to be free, but not to start be- 
fore the time. By this they will incur the displeas- 
ure of their companions, and be rejected at the bar. 
There is a proper time for these things ; besides, if 
you go now you Avill be deprived of these pleasures of 
lust and appetite, which you have indulged in here ; 
you have won them to your heart's content, and to 
leave so abruptly your fellows, with whom you have 
had many a sly talk and secret device, and revelled in 
many a hearty laugh over your hair-breadth escapes, 
your tricks upon the authorities, and your triumphs 
over their laws — to leave them thus shows a mean- 
ness of which you, as a gentleman and a man of honor, 
cannot be capable. And as to being reinstated at the 
courts ; the eleventh hour will answer just as well as 



ADDRESS TO PRISONERS. 115 

the first, and there is more joy over the reformation of 
a great offender than a little one ; therefore by the 
pleasures of sense, by your companions in durance, 
and by nature and reason, I conjure you to consider 
the matter, do nothing rashly, and delay a short time, 
if it be only to bid your fellows farewell. At this the 
fugitive puts his fingers in his ears and cries, " Escape 
for thy life, escape to the mountain, tarry not in all the 
plain. Now is the accepted time, behold now is the 
day of salvation." And with that he exclaims, " Fel- 
low-prisoners ! hear ye, hear ye the word of my mouth, 
and give ear to the voice of my exhortation ! The 
Lord hath heard your sighing by reason of your bond- 
age ; the Lord hears your groanings, by reason of them 
that oppress you, and he remembers his covenant with 
your fathers. He hath heard the groaning of the 
prisoner, and loosed them that are appointed unto 
death. He hath led captivity captive, he hath ascended 
on high, he hath received gifts for men, even for the 
rebellious. Hear it, O captive daughter in sackcloth, 
arise, and put on thy ornaments ! Hear it, my fellows 
in bonds I The time for your deliverance has come! 
Now, this very moment, he proclaims liberty to the 
captive, and the opening of your prison. He hath 
purchased your freedom by his own life, and appeased 
the vengeance of the law by his own blood ! Fear not 
then what man may say. Rise, and the Lord will 
loose the bands of your wickedness, undo your heavy 
burdens, and let the oppressed go free." After this he 
begins to sing and dance and shout, with such exulta- 
tions of joy that the captain of the guard becomes 
alarmed, and comes down with all his reserved corps. 
Now a desperate struggle ensues. Other prisoners 



116 ADDRESS TO PRISONERS. 

take courage by his boldness; and those first to con- 
demn him are now loudest in his praise, and they 
encourage him on. The captain demands why he 
attempted to escape, and by what right he demands 
release. " By the right of a free-born citizen whom 
you have imprisoned," is the reply ; " and I have 
attempted to escape because I have a passport that 
bears me safe, not only out of this prison, but to the 
governor's palace." With this he takes from his girdle 
a white stone, and in the stone was a new name 
written ; but the captain could not read it, for none 
knoweth it but him that receiveth it. Nevertheless, con- 
fident in his own knowledge of it, and certain of the 
voice that called him, he addresses himself for fight. 
Armed with a complete coat of mail, with helmet, 
breastplate, girdle, sword, and shield, there he stands, 
like the shadow of a great rock, bidding defiance to the 
coming storm of blows. The first discharges are made 
at his head, so that if wounded there, the heart may 
become vulnerable, and, by causing a diversion of the 
shield from the heart to the head, another discharge of 
arrows at the heart may bring instant death. The 
shock was deafening, and nearly overpowering ; for the 
arrows were dipped in several subtle essences, which 
made them penetrate further than he expected, and they 
were poisonous. These essences were magic, mystery, 
and sophistry. But recovering a little from his sur- 
prise, he finds his helmet sufficient for them all, and 
now burnished with wearing, it gleams all over with 
salvation. The next assault is to disarm him of his 
shield ; and the same weapons failing, a great iron bar 
is now brought from the gate of infidelity, to crush the 
arm holding the shield ; but it misses its aim, and falls 



ADDRESS TO PRISONERS. 117 

upon the breastplate instead, and only glances upon 
the arm, wounding it slightly ; so the fugitive is yet 
spared. But standing thus to be shot at, is no pleas- 
ant task, and his strength and courage will not hold 
out long without acting upon the offensive. Little 
did he think of such conflicts when he started ; he is 
already fatigued, bruised, and wounded, wellnigh unto 
death ; but, in the midst of his consternation, he draws 
his sword, wondering that he had so long let it remain 
in the scabbard. On it he reads these comforting 
words: " My grace is sufficient for thee; as thy day, so 
shall thy strength be ; one shall chase a thousand, and 
two put ten thousand to flight." Then swinging it 
twice around his head, and cutting and thrusting right 
and left, he cries, " In the Lord do I put my trust, I 
will not fear what flesh can do ; heaps upon heaps, 
I will not fear, though a thousand encamp against 
me." Now lust, sorcery, sophistry, infidelity, malice, 
and revenge, either flee or fall at the first stroke of 
his sword. Lust he pierces in the eye. Sorcery he 
terrifies by conjuring the name of Jesus. Sophistry 
he blinds and confounds by a single glance of his 
sword. Infidelity he smites down, as by a thunder- 
bolt, with the arrow of conviction. Upon the head 
of malice he throws coals of fire, or rather kindness, 
ignited by love, and revenge he pierces with his sword 
dipped in honey; and as this mode of attack comes 
so unexpectedly, the foe, being off his guard, falls with- 
out a struggle. Thus, instead of standing a target for 
devils, he assumes the offensive, and, singing, " The 
right hand of the Lord is glorious in power, the right 
hand of the Lord hath dashed in pieces the enemy," 
he, sword in hand, rushes on the foe, and charges and 



118 ADDRESS TO PRISONERS. 

routs them, and discomfits them before they have 
time to rally, until Diabolus' forces flee and fall with 
great slaughter. Now, as he is elated with victory, 
the enemy take advantage of his feelings to lead him 
into a snare. "While they pretend to flee before his 
strokes, they lead him directly over a trap-door open- 
ing to a solitary dungeon. This door is called 
Presumption, and this dungeon is called Doubting 
Dungeon. Inexperienced and unguarded at the feet, 
as they had not been shod with a preparation of the 
Gospel in his youth, he was too headstrong and too 
elated, and ventured too far, as many young converts 
do. So down he went. Great were the rejoicings 
among the Diabolians. They set up a loud shout 
when they saw Electus fall, then hastened to repair the 
breaches in the wall that the prisoners had made during 
the scuffle, and doubled the chains upon the captives, 
and doubled the guard ; for several prisoners had 
escaped, and many were on the point of rebellion, who 
now found their bondage more deplorable than ever. 
Poor Electus finds himself completely in the power of 
the enemy — forsaken by God and man. The door 
of his dungeon is bolted down with a great noise, and 
there is in it no light, neither food nor water. Now 
he laments his rashness, and lifts up his voice and 
weeps: "O Lord! thou knowest my foolishness; to 
me belongeth confusion of face. O my God! I am 
ashamed and blush to lift up my face. I know the 
plague of mine own heart and the evil of presumptuous 
sins. My tears are my meat, day and night. Hold 
not thy peace, O Lord! at my tears. O Lord! I am 
undone, for I am a man of unclean lips. Have mercy 
upon me, O Lord ! for I am weak. O Lord ! heal me, for 



ADDRESS TO FRISONERS. 119 

ray bones are vexed. My soul is also sore vexed ; but 
thou, O Lord! how long? How long, O Lord! shall 
the wicked triumph ? How long shall they bend the 
bow at the upright in heart ? Return, O Lord ! deliver 
my soul ; oh, save me for thy mercy's sake ! For in 
death there is no remembrance of thee; in the grave 
who shall give thee thanks?" The Lord hears his 
prayer, it is true ; but as there is not enough of faith, 
confidence, or trust, God delays an answer. In vain 
does he cry — "I am weary with my groanings ; all 
the night make I my bed to swim ; I water my couch 
with my tears. Mine eye is consumed because of 
grief; it waxeth old because of all mine enemies." 
Now a thought strikes him that he ought to feel for 
a way to escape, and show some action as well as 
prayer ; that " they that seek the Lord should feel 
after him, if haply they might find him." So he 
commences to grope in the dark, to discover of what 
material the cell is built. To his surprise, he finds it 
built of the most unsubstantial material possible — of 
mere hay, wood, and stubble. And the bolting of the 
door was of sound only like the cracklings of thorns 
under a pot. But it was dark, — " dark as the land of 
darkness and the shadow of death, without any order, 
and when the light iz as darkness." Now he thinks 
of his former deliverance. To doubt the light and 
strength then given him, would be to belie his senses. 
He knew he had more than mortal energy. This very 
armor tells that he had been assisted; and this new 
stone, dropped secretly into his girdle, tells that there 
was a friend nigh. Now he thinks how much that 
friend has done for him — how he found him in his low 
estate — how he left this robe for him instead of the 



120 ADDRESS TO PRISONERS. 

prison dress, that it might never be known, when he is 
free, that he ever was a prisoner — how he gave him 
the armor — and how he assisted him secretly, when 
unknown to him. And now, seeking for the spring 
of the door, to his astonishment he touched a tele- 
graphic battery reaching to the governor's palace. The 
wire of his telegraph is faith, laid here by a certain 
benefactor whose track was marked in blood up the 
steep of Calvary. And even tears and groans, if they 
touch the right spring, receive communications. And 
when Electus in great bitterness of soul cried out, 
"Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him" — he 
touched the right spring. Then came immediately to 
his mind, " Seek and ye shall find ; knock and the 
door shall be opened. The gates of hell shall not pre- 
vail against thee. I give thee eternal life, and none shall 
pluck thee out of my hand." Then he telegraphed the 
following : " Be merciful unto me, O God ! for man 
would swallow me up. There be many that fight 
against me ; but in thee, O God! have I put my trust.'' 
Then the ministers from the high courts, sent to min- 
ister to them who are heirs of salvation (Heb. 1 : 14), 
came down in hot haste to know by what authority a 
pardoned, reinstated, and adopted son of royalty was 
imprisoned? "Have I not set bounds to thy habita- 
tion, O Lucifer I and said thus far shalt thou go, and 
no farther ? Whence, then, this complaint that cometh 
to my ears ? " Diabolus replies, " We have not tran- 
scended our limits. The prisoner, we allow, has a 
passport with the name of high authority which will 
bear him safely out. But he has no right to abuse 
that name by trespassing on forbidden grounds. He 
was not content to quietly escape by himself alone, 



ADDRESS TO TRISONERS. 121 

Dut he must make a great hubbub about it, so as to dis- 
turb the quiet of other prisoners, and alarm the keepers. 
He was not content \vith extricating himself from our 
hands, but commenced to dissuade others from their 
loyalty, and with great flourish of sword, he marched 
upon us, and trespassed on Presumption's ground, 
which you know is our own; therefore he is where 
he is, and where he ought to be." Even the Psalmist 
prays — " Keep back thy servant from presumptuous 
sins ; let them not have dominion over me." How 
much more might such a giddy, upstart stripling need 
the precaution ! Therefore, let him learn by this, if he 
has found the straight and narrow way, to walk in it, and 
let others alone. The messengers, however, demanded 
his release whenever it was his will to go ; but never 
against his will. Yet Diabolus, more artful than 
honest, hits upon another plan to retain the prisoner. 
Perhaps on being released from total darkness to mar- 
vellous light, he may again be too elated by the con- 
trast, too self-confident, and so certain of his final 
perseverance, that he may be led to compromise with 
the enemy and delay his journey. 

Therefore, upon Electus' first coming to the light, 
the enemy commences a parley. " You know," said 
he, " the wealth and emoluments of this establishment ; 
you know the honors of command, and how many 
menials there are ; and if you tarry for a space, I pledge 
you these honors and emoluments shall be your own. 
You know, also, if you retain the niame on your pass- 
port — the sure witness, you will finally be received 
at head-quarters. Therefore, consider for a moment 
whether you may not give less offence to us, meet with 
more indulgence and less difficulties yourself, and still 
11 



122 ADDRESS TO PRISONERS. 

be just as safe in your heirship. In short, cannot we 
compromise the matter ? Just listen to me. By going 
with me for a moment, you shall witness such sights 
and sounds and mysteries and wonders, such courts 
and palaces, such wealth and magnificence as you 
never dreamed of. Know you not that many of the 
king's palaces of earth are in the hands of our majesty? 
Know you not that the chief wealth of the world is 
ours ? also, many of its great statesmen and warriors, 
and even some of its priests ? Know you not that 
good men have fallen deep in crime, and again been 
reinstated ? Think of David. Then, if great men 
have so indulged in crime, may not you commit some 
trivial offence ? It is certainly no great offence to look 
upon objects of pleasure, though you may not indulge 
in them. And now, as you have your liberty to see and 
judge for yourself, I propose to reveal many wonders 
to you, on condition that you shall remain a short time 
only, and appease by your presence the uneasiness of 
the prisoners. At what moment you may choose to 
go, you are at liberty to depart." Electus, happy in 
his freedom, and grateful for his release, could not con- 
sent at first even to look upon sinful pleasure, and it 
seemed as if he should never wander, never' be in 
bondage again so long as he lived, he so completely 
abhorred and detested the very sight of sin. But he 
did not stop his ears, and he listened to the voice of the 
charmer, until forbidden pleasures became familiar, and 
sights and sounds of iniquity less offensive. After the 
first transgression the way to perdition is easy ; so he 
at last consented. The first cell they visited was the 
Inquisition, the floor of which was covered with bones 
of heretics and the walls with weapons of persecution. 



ADDRESS TO PRISONERS. 123 

" These marks of cruelty," said his guide, " are the 
works of the priests — that class of saints which you so 
much revere." The next was the hall of mirth and 
jolity, the abode also of sensuality, intemperance, and 
licentiousness. And to the surprise of Electus, there 
were some priests also in this apartment. They now 
visited Satan's biblical library. The Bible was cov- 
ered with pictures in caricature. There the master was 
binding the slave ; there was David gazing toward the 
house of Uriah ; and there was Joshua exterminating 
the Canaanites. And works of science, falsely so called, 
were now examined. There were spiritual mysteries, 
and spiritual wonders, and spiritual mediums, perhaps, 
equalling Christ, and doctrines more agreeable than his 
to the flesh. He next was led to the palace of en- 
chantment. There every sense, passion, and imagina- 
tion was delighted with novelties and wonders. Wealth, 
talent, art, music, beauty, all combined to gratify and 
charm the senses ; fairy dances, resplendent lights, 
sparkling fountains, birds of rare plumage, voices of 
melodious note, viands of uncommon relish, and cor- 
dials of exquisite flavor, and, to add to the enchant- 
ment, his guide, now conspicuous in the dance and 
towering above his compeers, is, in a moment, trans- 
formed into an angel of light. His face shines as the 
morning, and his garments are brilliant as noonday. 
Electus begins to think these pleasures are not so 
heinous after all ; he must have had misconceptions of 
them ; he resolves to taste for himself, and, to gratify 
his longing appetite, which has become strong through 
fatigue, he sees fruit bending on the boughs and 
inviting. He reaches forth his hand to pluck, and finds 
there the apples of Sodom, — beautiful without, but 



124 ADDRESS TO PUISOXERS. 

within full of ashes. Now, in a moment, clouds come 
over his brow. He finds that he has been deceived. He 
gropes in the dark, he knov%rs not where. He feels for 
his sword — it is gone ; for his shield — but he lost it on 
the ground of enchantment ; his armor, and even his 
robe, all are gone. Oh, the sadness, the chagrin, and 
the shame that fill his mind! The thought that he 
should look on sin, that he should listen to its voice, 
and even taste of its fruits, after he had been so free, 
so happy, harrows up his soul w^th dreadful horrors ! 
Oh, weep, ye eyes that looked on sin ! weep this life 
away! burst, ye sockets of grief! and open, ye flood- 
gates of woe ! Howl, O my soul, for the woes that 
have come upon thee ! Pierce me, O conscience I 
Let the hot iron of thine indignation sear this soul, and 
burn this bleeding heart ! Bleed, O thou shuddering 
heart ! quiver and groan with the agony of crime's first 
conviction ! Strike me, O judgment, for I am guilty ! 
let the thunderbolts of thy wrath consume ! Weigh 
me, O justice! weigh my crimes to the utmost farthing, 
for I deserve not God's mercy ! O despair ! thou 
ministering angel of bad men! Come, let me comb 
thy dishevelled locks ! Let me mix my tears with 
thine ! Let me gaze on thy woful features ! Let me 
mark thy frothy ravings ! Let me hear thy shuddering 
groans ; and let me share thy feelings, so much like my 
own ! Oh, I am undone, forever undone ! Had I 
sinned through ignorance, had I sinned through in- 
firmity, or had I been remiss in duty, I might have 
been forgiven. But to transgress with my eyes open, 
to sin wilfully, with a full knowledge of consequences, 
and against so kind a Benefactor and Redeemer, tran- 
scends the utmost limits of mercy. Farewell, then, to 



THE CHAINED EAGLE. 125 

hope ! farewell heaven ! " Jast at this moment, there 
came to his mind this passage : " None shall pluck 
them out of my hand." Now he began to be en- 
couraged ; to think that perhaps for his name's sake, 
God will restore the joys of his salvation. Yes, for his 
name's sake — glorious be his name! And with con- 
fidence he once more looked up and prayed; and he 
soon found the attendant messengers of heaven watch- 
ing him and ministering to him, and recovering for him 
his shield, his armor, and his passport. The last we 
saw of Electus, he was travelling a straight and nar- 
row way towards the Governor's palace. It is called a 
highway of holiness, cast up for the ransomed of the 
Lord, and it extends beyond the prison-house of this 
world. He is wiser for his misfortunes, humbler for 
his sins, and more careful by past experience to avoid 
the first appearance of evil. 



THE CHAINED EAGLE. 

When travelling in the State of Vermont, I obtained 
from an old hunter the following eagle story. He had 
caught and caged a large and noble-spirited eagle, but 
had not retained it long before it began to sicken and 
droop. Its lofty spirit was broken, its wings dropped, 
and its towering head sunk towards the earth. The 
hunter saw that unless the bird had more liberty it must 
die. He therefore fastened it with a line to the cage, and 
gave it a circuit of several rods for action. The liberty- 
loving bird immediately spread its wings to mount up- 
11* 



126 THE CHAIKED EAGLE. 

ward. But it had scarcely got under way before, reach- 
ing the full length of its chain, down it fell. Again 
and again it tried, but with no better success. Finally, 
its courage was gone, it made no more efforts to escape, 
and spent the livelong day in biting its chains. It 
now refused to eat, its feathers were untidy, its wings 
dragged upon the ground, its neck was bent in dejection, 
and its eagle eye lost its lustre. At length, on a bright 
sunny morning, while pining over its bondage, it heard 
the voice of its companion shrieking from a mountain 
crag over its head. Old associations came with the 
sound and roused its spirit. It began to adjust its 
feathers, raise its head, and look on high. Again, and 
louder came the wild shriek of its companion, when 
the fettered bird stood erect, flashed its eye, spread its 
wings, darted upward to the length of the chain, and 
with mighty struggles of new-born Freedom asserting 
her right, burst its fetters, and, rising far above the 
mark of rifle or the ken of man, flew away to meet its 
royal mate in the radiant sky of heaven. 

Sinner! this is thy case. Thou art chained by him 
who is as a roaring lion seeking whom he may devour. 
Thou art pining under bonds of sin, and thy withering 
spirit refuses to be comforted. Now, by breaking off 
some evil habits, thou hast freed thyself a little, but 
though out of the cage, thou art still fettered. No 
good works will save thee, all the powers of earth can- 
not get thee free. Without the Spirit you may vainly 
struggle for a lifetime. Man may make a bird, and 
give it eyes and feathers and wings, but he can never 
make one that can breathe or fly. So thine own works 
cannot raise thee to heaven. The Spirit from a higher 
source must nerve the wings of thy faith, the Spirit 






THE CHAINED EAGLE. 127 

must make thee free. I see thee pining under thy 
chains, and striving to break the fetters of habit by 
thine own strength. Thou hast advanced a little, like 
the eagle to the length of his chain, but canst go no 
further. Despair is resting upon thee ; thou art almost 
dying. Hark! the voice of thy companion! the Com- 
forter from the rock above thee I " A rock that is 
higher than I.'^ Hark ! it is Jesus ! " Come up 
hither ! " he cries. " The Spirit and the bride say 
come, and whosoever will let him come; come up 
hither, come up hither." O sinnner! Now plume thy 
wing for glory ! Now brighten thy dim eye of faith, 
and look at the Sun of Righteousness ! Now hear the 
" voice of thy beloved leaping upon the mountains. 
He looketh forth at the windows, showing himself 
through the lattice ! " Now raise thy drooping head 
of despair! Now strike thy fettered feet upon the 
Rock of Ages ! Now burst the last bands that bind 
thee ! Now, with thine eagle eye of faith brightening 
for glory, thine ear open to the voice above thee, thy 
feet bending to leap, thy wings spread for flight, now ! 
now! now! strike thy pinions, and upon the golden 
wing of faith, as a bird of hope soaring towards the 
land of promise, mounting above the confines of earth 
— above its clouds, its darkness and its storms, far up 
beneath the radiant smiles of thy Redeemer, — there 
settle thy weary feet upon the ever-enduring promises 
of God ! 



128 STARVED TO DEATH. 

STARVED TO DEATH. 

In the year 1851, a man starved himself to death in 
Springfield, Mass. He had been imprisoned for intem- 
perance ; but insisting on his right as a freeman, he 
resolved never*to eat until he could eat with his family, 
at home. From this rash resolve nothing could swerve 
him. Food and cordials tempted him in vain. He 
gazed upon them and fed his revenge by fighting his 
appetite. His wife and relatives came to console him 
and eat with him, but all to no purpose. " Liberty or 
death I" was his cry for many long rebellious days. 
At length appetite was conquered, his flesh loosened upon 
the bones ; nature was giving way. I think it was 
the nineteenth day that I visited him, and on the twen- 
tieth day he died. Just before he breathed his last he 
made signs for food ; but it was too late. Death had 
set in. He fepented, and begged for life ; but life was 
denied him, he had pushed his revenge one step too 
far — he had committed the sin unto death. Thus, 
O prisoner of sin, thou art starving, dying! Unless 
thou art fed in thine own way, thou dost prefer 
death ! Oh, give up thy stubborn will ! Stop ! stop in 
thy mad fury, and fight no more against God I God's 
will must be done, and not thine. Hold out no longer. 
Submit to the law, and be saved through Jesus Christ. 
With all thy rebellion and all thy wickedness, he will 
set thee free, and feed and clothe thee, if thou wilt only 
submit. Lose not the offer. Oh, turn ye, turn ye, for 
why will ye die ! Wine and milk are offered without 
money and without price. Oh, taste and see that the 
Lord is good, and his mercy endureth forever I 



SERMON TO SOLDIERS. 



Fight the good fight. — 1 Tm. 6 : 12. 

Soldiers of the cross ! conscripts of heaven ! let us 
talk a little about war. 

Since the Fall of man, the profession of arms has 
been ever honorable to mankind. And since it was 
declared that the seed of the woman should bruise the 
serpent's head, there have been two antagonistic prin- 
ciples, at variance with each other and continually at 
war. And whatever peace-loving man may decree, 
and whatever peace-gathered conventions may resolve, 
it cannot be otherwise until the great enemy of man- 
kind is chained, and the kingdoms of this world 
become the kingdoms of our Lord and his Christ. 
Therefore, to bring about these peaceful times, we are 
commanded, even by the God of peace, to fight. We 
are commanded to quit ourselves like men, to stand and 
fight, to hold on and fight, to run the race with fight- 
ing, to wrestle and fight, to agonize and fight, and 
dying to fight — looking unto the Captain of our salva- 
tion for a crown at the completion of the victory. " I 
am not come to send peace on earth," says Christ, 
" but a sword." " The Lord is my strength ; he teach- 
eth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight." 

I am aware that the profession of arms among the 

129 



130 SERMON TO SOLDIERS. 

soldiers of the cross, consists too much in name ; that 
many have a name to fight, who raise not a finger in 
battle. Many have lost their vigor, many have retired 
on parole, and many have deserted. Many officers, 
ceasing to do active service in camp, have repaired to 
splendid mansions, and appear only once a week, or 
on muster-days. They still retain their titles and 
emoluments, although they have thrown off the mili- 
tary dress, and have ceased to give out orders in mar- 
tial language. 

Then, in the face of most appalling inroads upon 
our religion, and most dangerous incursions upon our 
faith, both the common soldiers and the commissioned 
officers are criminally delinquent. Although great cas- 
tles, high towers, and lofty spires with many chimes, 
have been erected within a few years, and with splen- 
did decorations and costly ornaments, yet as aque- 
ducts and palaces could not keep off a Philip, any 
Demosthenes can see that high steeple and gilded 
trappings will not expel the adversary. And although, 
on the first day of the week, multitudes are seen march- 
ing up to rendezvous, for exercise and drill, dressed in 
uniform perhaps, yet their dress and their drill indicate 
very little of the bearing of a soldier. 

Personal Conflicts, — We are to speak of personal 
confficts in the inner life ; then of general warfare. 

First, the inner life. Every man living is born to 
doubt — to doubt God's providence, and especially his 
revelation. Our first struggle, then, is with unbelief. 
The weapons requisite are study, meditation, and 
prayer. We doubt because we neglect the word ; if 
we study at all, it is to criticise and condemn. But to 



SERMON TO SOLDIERS. 131 

study honestly, and allow the truth to reveal the cor- 
ruption of our hearts is far from our purpose. We 
love darkness rather than light, because our deeds are 
evil. Therefore we are guilty in doubting because we 
refuse the light. The ostrich, by hiding his head in the 
sand, does not evade the pursuer, and we cannot avoid 
the judgments of God by closing our eyes against them. 
Then study the word. If it be true, it is awfully true ; 
heaven and hell rest upon it. Then study it ; study 
carefully and honestly ; if it probe the depths of your 
heart, let the worst be known. It is better to know 
your case now, than to be flattered by false physicians, 
" physicians of no value," until beyond recovery. Then 
study — study, morning and night ; seize every moment 
for that purpose. Study till your eyes grow dim, your 
cheek pales, and your lamp burns low. Study the 
best expositors, and see then if you can doubt. Study, 
and then meditate upon what you study. In your 
walkings by the way, and in the silence of the night,, 
contemplate upon this great theme — Has God revealed 
his will to man? Has man sinned? Is he guilty? What 
must be his punishment, especially if he refuse mercy? 
Think upon it, and then pray over it. Prayer is the 
mighty battering-ram that breaks down the doors of 
unbelief. It is the lever that overturns the kingdom 
of darkness, — the key that unlocks the storehouse of 
heaven. 

Then, to fight the good fight of faith, we must study, 
meditate, and pray. Like the prince to be crowned, 
we must bow to receive the crown, and stoop to con- 
quer. Then let our knees be bent, our eyes turned 
upwards, and our hands raised to Heaven for help. 
Pray until darkness be expelled ; pray, until doubts 



132 SERMON TO SOLDIERS. 

take the wing of the morning ; pray until your prison- 
house of unbelief is shaken by the earthquake of God's 
power ; pray until the eaves of your dwelling are filled 
with listening angels ; pray until you have the whole 
armor on ; pray until your eyes flash with victory, and 
your heart beats boldly as a lion's ; pray until your ad- 
versary flees terrified through fear ; pray until you plant 
your foot upon the neck of sin and unbelief; pray until 
you feel the heavens are moving, and the chariots of 
God are coming. Watch the movings of the Spirit ; 
watch and pray, and when you hear a " sound of going 
in the tops of the mulberry trees, then bestir yourself." 
To prayer, then, O ye soldiers of Clirist! to prayer! 
to prayer I Bow the knee. Camels stoop to receive 
their burdens, cattle bow their heads for drink, and 
soldiers in front ranks bend the knee to repel a charge. 
Then bow the knee. Attention I soldiers I Every 
man upon his knees, hands up, eyes raised, and 
knees bowed, waiting for your commission. Now 
rise and advance upon the foe. Charge ! charge ! for 
" The kingdom of heaven suffereth violence, and the 
violent take it by force." 

* Every Man to be engaged. — Many battles have been 
lost because all the marshaled forces were not brought 
into action. The church fails because she does not 
employ half her resources. That church is the most 
flourishing which can set all her members at work, and 
that preacher the most effective who can give employ- 
ment to the greatest number of laborers. Whatever 
be his talent as a speaker, if he have force of will, and 
can set every member at work, he is the Lord's chosen. 
A few officers in the front ranks cannot do ail the 



SERMON TO SOLDIERS. 133 

fighting ; and a preacher and a few deacons, the omy 
ones to be heard in meeting, will never conquer the 
world. Meetings should be appointed in every nook 
and corner — meetings enough to give every professor, 
male and female, an opportunity to speak. Then let 
them speak of experience ; old soldiers can teach the 
young best by experience, and Christian experience is 
the loudest preaching. Then come out from your hid- 
ing places, O ye banished saints ! there is fighting to 
do! The private ranks must be filled ; fighting men 
are needed, and not commissioned idlers ; common 
soldiers must do the fighting. 

Little spindles twist the yarn ; small gearing weaves 
the web ; little wheels move fastest, and are in closest 
affinity with the workmen ; while great overshot power 
wheels move with slow and measured dignity, in re- 
spectful distance, like sons of noblemen. Then let us 
set the little wheels in motion ; let every one be in its 
place, — a "wheel in the middle of a wheel," — and let 
every one have a connection with its fellow. All 
wheels are dead weights without a connection ; and 
church members may die with nothing to do without 
proper sympathy with each other. The reason that 
pulpit orders are not better obeyed is because there is 
a want of connection between the pulpit and the peo- 
ple. Then let us come down from our dignity ; let us 
link ourselves with working men ; let us set the little 
wheels buzzing ; let us not despise the day of small 
things. The largest animals are not the most useful, 
nor the most active. Behemoths cannot build islands, 
but little coral insects can do it. By millions they 
labor together, and build the vast rock, until it 
rises above the wave and becomes the habitation of 
12 



134 SERMON TO SOLDIERS. 

man. Whales are not fighting animals, but are driven 
about and killed by the little sword fish, the killer, and 
the thresher. Little animals move swiftest and mul- 
tiply fastest. Elephants breed slowly, while insects 
multiply by the thousand. Little birds are the sweet- 
est singers ; small vipers are the most deadly ; little 
blotches indicate the small pox ; larger ones, only 
the common boil. Then watch the little foxes that 
destroy the tender vine. The shoulders are good for 
bearing heavy weights, and hodmen move slowly ; but 
the fingers, the tongue, and the brain move swiftest 
and wield the greatest moral power. Then let every 
finger be working for the Lord ; let every tongue be 
speaking of his goodness, and every brain devising 
something to do. Rouse up the neglected part of com- 
munity; kitchen work is done by servants, and the 
hardest fighting by common soldiers. Then to arms ! 
to arms ! O ye idlers I God calls to arms ! Ye have 
enlisted where there is no leave of absence, no parole, 
no discharge. Then do your duty. Be at your place, 
at the circle of prayer, at the sabbath school, in dis- 
tributing tracts, in visiting the sick, in comforting the 
mourning, in feeding the poor, and in preaching by the 
way. 

Martial Language. — The tower of Babel was not 
completed because the workmen could not understand 
each other ; the officers gave out orders in an unknown 
tongue. Thus it is from the pulpit ; orders are too full 
of dead languages ; there is too much of the ^^Deus 
venerandus a nobis esV^ in them. Of the forty thousand 
English words, five-eighths are of pure Anglo-Saxon 
origin, enough to express every shade of meaning. 



SERMON TO SOLDIERS. 135 

Figurative language is purely English, taken from ob- 
jects of sense. Almost all tangible objects are chris- 
tened in English, and never dubbed with a foreign 
dialect. The names of heat, cold, rain, snow, hail, 
sleet, thunder, lightning, sea, land, hill, dale, wood, 
stream — and also of the social relations, names of fa- 
ther, mother, husband, wife, brother, sister, son, daugh- 
ter, child, home, kindred, friends — and of the emotions, 
love, hope, fear, sorrow, shame — of the heavenly bodies, 
the sun, moon, stars — three out of four of the elements, 
earth, fire, water — three of the seasons, spring, summer, 
winter — also, day, night, morning, evening, twilight, 
noon, midday, sunrise, and sunset, — all, all are Anglo- 
Saxon. Then we need not dig up the dead roots of 
dead languages ; we have words enough that are alive 
and vigorous, with fruitful meaning, without the dead 
roots of Greek or Latin. All nations have a language 
to correspond with their deeds. If their habits are 
simple and energetic, their language is such ; if the 
martial spirit prevails, then the martial speech prevails ; 
if their habits are delicate and effeminate, their lan- 
guage is effeminate. So with the pulpit. If the voice 
of the pulpit be warlike, as in the Reformation, then 
war notes will sound forth ; if effeminate, as at the 
present day, then instead of " Fight the good fight," 
and " War a good warfare," you will hear, " Peace ! 
peace I Ours is a gospel of peace. Let us not offend 
the Devil, but let us take off our hats and bow to his 
majesty, and beg his pardon, and thus we shall spread 
the gospel of peace." I will give a sample of modern 
pulpit effeminacy. " Dearly beloved brethren ! With 
all deference to the dignity of your honorable stations, 
and the discriminating acuteness of your profound un- 



136 SERMON TO SOLDIERS. 

derstandings, allow me to impress most emphatically 
upon your minds the very important yet marked differ- 
ence and distinction between tweedledum and tweedle- 
dee ! " Wonderful must be the effect of such lan- 
guage ! How important the difference and distinction! 
" To be or not to be " is very simple a-b-c talk ; yet 
when an immortal soul hangs upon the borders of two 
worlds, just ready to drop into nothing, or into weal or 
woe — " To be or not to be, that is the question I " But 
scholastified it might read, " To have the vitce continu- 
ous esse futurus esse,''^ or, in other words, to have the 
quidity of quintessence^ quintessinicimus, quentessinorum ! 
O Shakspeare ! come back, and learn expressions from 
us modern linguists ! Plain talk, like plain bread for a 
hungry man, is better than essences and quintessences. 
Then we must come back to plain talk, such as our 
fathers used. Once we could say " He that believeth 
not shall be damned ; " but now we must say, '^Ille con- 
demitur,^^ he shall be condemned. Once we could say, 
" The wicked shall be turned into hell ; " but now, 
" They shall be turned into the place where it shall be 
impolite to speak about them." Once a trumpet was 
used; we could speak with the voice of a trumpet; but 
now a finer instrument is used at the other end of the 
house. Once we could cry aloud and spare not; but 
now we must spare everybody, and whisper — whisper — 
lest we get excited and scare the Devil. Once, seizing 
the hammer of God's word, we could strike — strike — 
strike — with its sin-convicting power; but now, with a 
velvet cushion upon the face of it, we must tap — tap — 
tap — lest we smash the heartless vanity of some poor, 
self-righteous soap-bubble. 



SERMON TO SOLDIERS. 137 

State of Affairs. — Right in the face of our mock 
parade and sham fighting, let us examine the enemy's 
works. No accurate observer can doubt that the 
churches have failed to be effectual upon the masses. 
Cushioned seats and high rents do not attract them, or 
if once attracted the preaching does not draw them 
again. Infidelity is multiplying its castles and open- 
ing its batteries, even on the sabbath, to more persons 
than are found in our churches. This is done in drink- 
ing saloons, and by light reading and social converse. 
The churches themselves have lost the aggressive, war- 
like spirit , they have degenerated in doctrine as well 
as practice. There is scarcely a church or denomina- 
tion, Armenian or Calvinistic, that abides by its old 
doctrinal landmarks. The doctrine of total depravity 
is discarded, spiritual regeneration treated as of small 
account, and hell torments are withheld, as being hor- 
rible to fashionable ears. In every grade of society, 
from the hut of poverty to the nation's council-cham- 
ber, intemperance, licentiousness, and dishonesty are 
sapping the vitals of government. And, as seen by the 
recent monetary crises, confidence in society is being 
lost, corporations are suspected, directors are proved 
defaulters, politics is a tool for corruption, religion has 
degenerated into form ; not one-fourth of the people 
profess any religion at all, and much of what is pro- 
fessed is a mere negation, allowing every ism and 
schism, thick as the frogs of Egypt, to creep into the 
very bread-troughs of our divinity. Vice and crime of 
every hue and kind are multiplying, poor-houses are 
crowded, jails are filled, murder is let loose, robbery 
prowls abroad, safety is fleeing, justice is bribed, and 
judgment perverted ; yet the watchmen but faintly 
12* 



138 SERMON TO SOLDIERS. 

sound the trumpet, and the soldiers do not rally. I do 
not say that our country, or even New England, was 
ever free from this state of things ; but I do say that 
since liberalism has prevailed, and the rigid doctrines 
of the Puritans have been ridiculed, vice has become 
awfully alarming. In forsaking the gospel for politics, 
in laying aside the Bible for human inventions, we have 
been lured into the lap of a Delilah, and shorn of our 
strength. Maine laws and moral reforms are but ropes 
of sand without the gospel. Nothing but the gospel 
can regenerate the world ; nothing but the gospel can 
fully regenerate this city. With all its pride of patri- 
otism, beneficence, and learning, a subtle infidelity rests 
as an incubus upon almost every moral enterprise. It 
fills the very air, it changes the face of learning, grasps 
the helm of benevolence, usurps reform movements, 
becomes respected in the sanctuary, and creeps into 
the pulpit. The people are hungering for plain, prac- 
tical Holy Ghost teachings, but are too often fed with 
subtle metaphysics, Formalism has prevailed in tyr- 
anny, and fettered religion has risen to assert its rights ; 
but, like uneducated freedom in the hands of unskilful 
=men, it has run mad. The people have been so long 
tantalized and yet unfed, that they now swallow doc- 
trines of poison. Having religious natures that must 
be gratified, and failing to be fed from the proper 
source, like unfledged birds, hungering and gaping, 
they have blindly swallowed every thing that came 
along. Millerism once shook the city; Mormonism 
had its day, until, lastly. Spiritualism, Swedenborgism, 
and Parkerism present a long train of wrecked and 
starving victims, floating upon a few planks taken from 
the gospel ship, far from Christ, the only ark of safety, 



SERMON TO SOLDIERS. 139 

sinking amid the reefs of infidelity and the breakers of 
despair. 

Call for Volunteers. — There is a call to arms; a 
call for watchmen upon the walls of Zion ; for bold, 
courageous, enterprising men — men like our fathers, 
hardy, intrepid, and self-denying — men that can stand 
all weather, all storm, all opposition, all trials and per- 
secutions — men that can bear the burden, wield the 
sword, mount the ladder, scale the wall, and endure 
hardness as a good soldier — men that can perform 
forced marches in double quick time, spend sleepless 
nights, march all night, and fight all day — men that 
consider no battle finished until the foe is routed, and 
no campaign ended so long as the enemy remains in 
the field — men who always have the armor on, who 
are ever ready to stand, to march, to charge, and to 
strike — men who are not afraid of a little brush of 
battle, a little fatigue, a little hunger, a little cold, and 
a little loss of blood — men who can remain a long 
time on duty, can march at any moment, strike when 
needed, charge when commanded, stand when called 
to shield their fellows, and die when the sacrifice is 
required. Oh, give us such men I — men that are as 
faithful in the Christian warfare as in the field of battle 
— men that are as brave as Caesar, as combative as John 
Knox, as bold as Luther, and as full of faith and the 
Holy Ghost as a dying Stephen. Give us such men — 
men of sanctified hearts, invulnerable faith, and in- 
domitable will — men who, at all hazards, will stand by 
us when God calls them, and pray for us, and uphold 
our hands. Give us such men to fight the battles of 
the Lord, and old crusty Formalism will rise and open 



140 SERMON TO SOLDIERS. 

his eyes and shake himself and march for the battle ; 
the children of sloth will catch the spirit of action, and 
it will be more difficult for them to remain idle, or 
stem the current, than it is now to start. Give us such 
men, and the powers of darkness would soon be routed. 
Thanks be to God, he has called around me a few such, 
and I trust he has many more elect in this city that are 
yet to be called. Come, then, from your hiding-places, 
O ye banished saints I Come, ye timid Ready-to-halts ! 
Come, ye that feared the Midianites — ye who, like 
Gideon, were compelled to thresh your wheat behind 
the wine-press. Come out, face the foe, and shout, 
" The sword of the Lord and Gideon I " Hurl the fire- 
brands of conviction into the face of the foe. They 
shall be discomfited. Already their swords are turned 
against their fellows ; there is a division among them. 
Already we have won glorious victories. Already we 
liave seen a hundred slain, a hundred profess conver- 
sion, and many hundred wounded ; but what is a hun- 
dred in comparison with the fifty thousand unconverted ? 
The war, then, is but just commenced. A few scout- 
ing parties only are taken, while the main army is in 
the field against us. Of thirty thousand, Gideon had 
but three hundred. We may be thankful if we have 
the same number ; but three hundred can do the work 
when God calls ; yea, one can chase a thousand, and 
two put ten thousand to flight. Then sound the 
ti'umpet I — shout for victory I — and with the blazing 
torches of God's eternal truth ye shall awake the sloth- 
ful, alarm the guilty, terrify the ungodly, and, burning 
the mazes of sophistry, ye shall light infidelity to its 
grave. 



SERMON TO SOLDIERS. 141 

Position of the Enemy. — We are to fight the good 
fight of faith. Infidelity is the counterpart or opposite 
of faith , therefore it behoves us to examine the strength 
of the enemy. As I gaze up and down this world 
lying in wickedness, I find it full of disloyal subjects, 
armed against their lawful King. I see forts, castles, 
and barricades, built thick through all the earth, and 
filled with legions of the King's enemies. Besides the 
garrison, there are many outposts, scouting parties, 
pioneers, and an immense field army, ready at a mo- 
ment's warning to march to any assailed point. Time 
would fail me to describe them. The whole forces are 
commanded by the prince of the power of the air, who 
is called Satan, the adversary. Among the castles. 
Intemperance, Sensuality, Sorcery, Idolatry, Covetous- 
ness, Malice, Murder, and Revenge, are prominent ; 
but the strongest fortress of all, the one having the 
most intricate wards, and built with the most scientific 
and artistic skill, is Infidelity. It has employed the 
talent of the first artists, and is laid in the most costly 
stones that the gems of intellect could furnish, and its 
halls dazzle with richest thoughts of splendor. This 
is the rendezvous for all great councils of the alien 
army ; it is the head-quarters of hell. Other forces 
commit greater ravages and rapine and more overt 
acts of wickedness, but they possess less moral power, 
and are less implacable. None are so irreconcileable 
to the King, none militate so much against his throne, 
and there are no other traitors but what may be par- 
doned. " He that believeth not shall be damned." 
" The unbelieving shall have their part in the lake 
which burneth with fire and brimstone, which is the 
second death." The sin of unbelief is the only sin 



142 SERMON TO SOLDIERS. 

that transcends the power of the atonement ; it is the 
blasphemy against the Holy Ghost, which cannot be 
forgiven in this world, neither in the world to come. 
It cannot be forgiven, because it tramples upon the 
blood of the atonement, from whence all forgiveness 
comes. It is the passport to all crime, the stepping- 
stone to all infamy ; for all restraint is taken away 
when " they have no fear of God before their eyes." 
This castle is situated not far from Pandemonium, — 
the seat of the infernal empire, — from which it holds 
direct communication, and receives all its supplies. It 
is defended by an army of doubters, under various 
officers, from Major-General Atheist, Brigadier- General 
Deist, Colonel Free- Thinker, Captain Christless, down 
to Corporal Unregenerate. From this fortress, recruits 
are furnished for all divisions of the army, and none 
are fit for command until they have served here as 
cadets. They cannot be courageous in crime until the 
fear of God is banished from their minds. 

Nature of Infidelity. — The nature of infidelity is to 
destroy, to pull down, and never to build up, but to 
disorganize, revolutionize, and infernalize. Like the 
jackal and hyena, it dwells among ruins and gloats 
over wrecks, and it feeds on evil as vermin do on cor- 
ruption. When it finds a dead professor, it picks him 
as crows do carrion. Like nightshade, it flourishes 
best in the dark. It plans its attacks in the night, 
executes them in the night, buries its dead in the night, 
and allows no light in the grave. It shouts of freedom 
when its own votaries are in the deepest bondage. It 
boasts of reason when its understanding is most dark- 
ened. It preaches charity while the gall of malice 



SERMON TO SOLDIERS. 143 

drops from its lips, and the poison of asps is upon its 
tongue. It transforms itself into an angel of light, and 
sings of love while clothed with revenge as with a 
garment. From downright atheism up to the doubts 
of unregenerate moralists, all that militates against 
God is summed up in that little word unbelief. Then, 
in fighting the battles of the Lord, seek out the infidel. 
If infidelity be the king of sins, he is the king of sin- 
ners. Seek him out ; let none escape. With the 
sword of God's Spirit, which is the Word, penetrate the 
mail of his unbelief. Thrust its sin-convicting poiat 
into his heart. Let him know that robbers and mur- 
derers may be forgiven, but the infidel never ! Nothing 
but death saves him — death to unbelief. Then seek 
him out ; strip him of his pretended moral saintship ; 
overturn his religious respectability; reveal his secret 
enmity ; dissect his corrupt heart ; hold it up to Christ 
and his angels ; ask them if there is any thing that 
transcends the atonement of the Son of God but this ; 
ask them if there is any power so subtle, so contami- 
nating, so prevalent, and so deadly. Then down with 
the infidel ! Death to every unbeliever. Let this be the 
watchword — " Believe or die! " But some will say, " I 
conscientiously doubt." Very well ; who made you to 
doubt ? What company have you chosen ? What 
books have you read ? What sins have you committed 
to blind your eyes ? Now, if you are in the dark, who 
is to blame ? If a man blinds his own eyes, so that he 
cannot see, who is accountable ? Then, O ye soldiers of 
the cross, charge upon the infidel ! Find out the chief 
enemy of God ; fight with him, and him alone. Con- 
quer him, and the rest will surrender. Pass by the 
thief and the harlot, for they may be forgiven ; they 



144 SERMON TO SOLDIERS. 

are only subjects of the king. " Fight ye neither with 
small nor great, save only with the king." The infidel 
is the Ahab of kings ; he introduces all the abomina- 
tions of heathenism ; he marries all the Jezebels of 
iniquity, and supports more than four hundred priests 
of Baal at his table. 

Strength yet Inaction of our Forces^ — Against Sa- 
tan's principalities and powers batteries are erected in 
every city, and various brigades or denominations are 
marshalled to suit the taste and capacity of every man. 
But oh, with what little success! Be astonished, O 
heavens, at our failure ! There is a wrong somewhere. 
Could a messenger from some far-off planet visit our 
nation, and, marching with the course of the sun on a 
sabbath morning, hear the chime of bells, from Maine 
to Oregon, circling one quarter of the globe, with one 
continuous sound — could he see these tall spires perfo- 
rating the heavens thick throughout the continent, 
towering from the most splendid edifices of the nation, 
and that these temples are open one-seventh of the 
time to the public crowds of beauty and fashion, be- 
sides the multitude of prayer meetings and lectures 
during the week — could he witness the millions of 
gilded Bibles adorning every library, every parlor, and 
every centre table — could he find in these Bibles the 
same internal evidence extending from beginning to 
end, for more than four thousand years, the same attri- 
butes of God, his mercy, his judgments, and his good- 
ness, all unchanged with the change of ages — could he 
see that Bible attested by the most astonishing mira- 
cles, miracles witnessed by both friends and foes, 
witnessed upon rivers, seas, mountains, deserts, and 



SERMON TO SOLDIERS. 145 

upon man, both in putting to death and bringing to 
life — could he see in that Bible one distinguished per- 
sonage, spoken of a hundred times in the old Scriptures, 
bearing alike the same character in all ages, coming to 
earth in the latter days, and the circumstances of his 
coming plainly indicated for hundreds and even thou- 
sands of years before the time ; and that this person 
should be the Son of God, and that he did come to 
earth and became a man of sorrow, acquainted with 
grief, suffered and died, yet rose again ; and to attest 
his divinity the rocks were rent, the graves were opened, 
the sun was darkened, and himself could not be holden 
in the grave, but rose on the third day ; that he died, the 
just for the unjust ; was made sin for us who knew no 
sin, and that, by simple faith, only by believing, the 
greatest sinner may be saved, and all the world and 
every creature be converted to God, and sin and iniquity 
be banished from the earth ; and that his Spirit is prom- 
ised to all that preach in his name, a Spirit mighty to 
the pulling down of strongholds, quick and powerful ; 
and the Word when preached is sharper than a two- 
edged sword, and by that Word scores and hundreds 
have been pricked to the heart and converted under 
one sermon ; that even three thousand have been con- 
verted in a day, and that the same Spirit is now prom- 
ised, and is able to perform the same mighty deeds 
through faith — could a messenger from another world 
become acquainted with such a gospel as ours, able to 
save to the uttermost, able to regenerate the whole 
world — and then could he see how little are its effects 
among us, how indifferently preached, how miserably 
practised, how slow to overcome the world, what would 
be his astonishment ? What would be his indignation 
13 



146 SERMON TO SOLDIERS. 

to see so priceless a gospel in so pitiful hands — to see 
so powerful an army, backed up by the Almighty, yet 
overmatched by the Devil ! 

Latter-day Warfare. — As military tactics in the 
physical world have greatly changed since the apostolic 
time, so also have the modes of our spiritual warfare. 
Once kings and commanders fought in the front ranks 
and shared a common soldier's fare ; but now our offi- 
cers are too delicate for such regimen. Once men 
could fight every day for a week, but now only two 
hours out of seven times twenty-four. Once com- 
manders stood by the ranks and were familiar with all. 
They could say, " My sheep hear my voice, and I know 
them." But now it is gloriously popular to be igno- 
rant of every man's condition. Once it was necessary 
for every citizen to be a soldier ; now we can hire 
mercenaries to do the fighting, and by paying well we 
can sleep in the pew, while they do a little flourishing 
in the pulpit. Once officers and soldiers were on a 
common level ; but now officers are compelled to be 
reserved lest they lose their dignity. Once it was an 
honor for them to live and die poor ; but now they are 
nothing without a golden reputation. Once it was for- 
bidden to put on gold or costly apparel ; but now it is 
a sin to be without them. Once steel was thought 
better than gold, because more substantial, and sack- 
cloth better than silk, because more enduring, and bet- 
ter for kneeling, especially in filthy places ; but now 
for fencing instead of fighting, gold glitters the best ; 
and as to kneeling, that is an old-fashioned mode of 
repelling a foe, and too low and dirty work for modern 
warfare. Once armor, strong and heavy armor, 



SERMON TO SOLDIERS. 147 

was required ; but now, as we can get behind breast- 
works and shoot at a distance, armor is not needed. 
Once we met the enemy face to face and eye to eye ; 
but now we can retreat behind the pulpit, and send 
rockets down into the dens of iniquity. Once we 
fought with short swords, and the shorter the sword the 
nearer we approached the enemy ; but now we can 
fire paper bullets. Once it was necessary to have a 
shield, called Faith ; but now as a shield may sometimes 
confound the sight, it is thought best to trust the sight 
rather than the shield. Once a helmet was needed 
called Salvation ; as the head was most exposed and 
wounds in the head affect the heart; but now the 
head is thought capable of defending itself, and the 
helmet is thrown aside for the free-thinking cranium. 
Once a sword was of great service, called the Sword of 
the Spirit ; but now a silver cane will answer. Once 
the word of God was used as a sharp sword, with two 
edges piercing to the quick ; but now a sheath is made 
for it, called " Politeness," and, to prevent its penetrat- 
ing, a ball is fastened upon the point called " Tender 
Compassion." Oh, the times ! the times ! 

Better Times coming. — Land of the Pilgrims ! Shades 
of the Puritans ! Where the age that produced men — 
strong, bold, fearless, honest men ? Where those men 
that were born heroes — that drank courage from their 
mountain springs — that fed on valor from the forest 
game ? Where those men nurtured in the wilds, who 
were as brave as bravery's own self ? Where those 
revolutionary heroes, who could be tracked by the blood 
of their feet to the field of battle ? Where that puri- 
tanic independence and self-denial that could leave 



148 SERMON TO SOLDIERS. 

home in a civilized land for free worship in the wilder- 
ness ? Where now the Brainards, the Mathers, the 
Williamses, the Eliots ? Where those men of the 
iron age, that meant what they said, said what they 
meant, and said it as if they meant it ? Whose every 
word was a nail fastened in a sure place, and whose 
every stroke of the hammer brought a clincher? O 
ye Pharisees, hypocrites I Ye may build the tombs of 
the fathers, and garnish the sepulchres of the righteous, 
but ye touch not the burdens of those men with one 
of your fingers. Ye may erect a monument at Plym- 
outh, and make it vie with that at Bunker Hill ; but ye 
are as far from the faith and vital piety of those men, 
as a Sadducee is from a saint. Venerable Fathers, 
rise and rebuke the builders of your sepulchres ! 
Stop infidelity from burning incense over your tombs I 
Let your ashes be scattered upon the sea, rather than 
have them usurped by unbelievers. Your monument 
already stands in the hearts of the faithful, and there 
forever let it stand, rather than in the cold stone of 
builders whose faith is as cold as the stone. Awake ' 
O arm of the Lord I let God arise, and let his enemies 
be scattered. Awake, O Zion! put on thine armor, 
O Jerusalem I As wax melteth before the fire, so shall 
the wicked perish at the presence of God. Awake, 
O New England ! there is a change coming over the 
spirit of thy warfare. Awake and sing, thou that 
dwellest in the dust ; for thy dead shall arise, and the 
ransomed of the Lord shall return with songs and ev- 
erlasting joy upon their heads. 

Union, — In union there is strength. Much Chris- 
tian valor is wasted, and worse than wasted, in fighting 



SERMON TO SOLDIERS. 149 

with one another. After a victory there is too much 
contention about the captives. One regiment declares 
that no captive shall march with us, or eat at our table, 
unless he be plunged into water. Another affirms that 
they cannot be naturalized without the sanction of the 
bishop. If these requisitions are not complied with, 
then there is a tremendous war in our camp, and such 
a war as makes the aliens cry. Aha I see how these 
Christians love one another. 

Now we believe the time has come for union. 
Though the colors of each regiment may vary a little, 
yet we all belong to the same grand army. The church 
has been injured a hundred-fold more by its pretended 
friends, fighting against each other, than by all its foes. 
Civil wars are the most to be deplored of all wars. 

But one says, " I am a Baptist; I cannot fight with- 
out water." So are we Baptists ; we believe in im- 
mersion ; we believe in burying the old man as deep as 
possible ; and when he comes up, if he be contentious 
because others were not plunged so deep as he, and 
continue to fight his brethren of other denominations, 
then, I say, put him under again, and with this differ- 
ence, that we don't take him out. If baptism be a 
saving ordinance, the only way to save such a man — 
a man of nothing but contention — is, in the name of 
the blessed Trinity, to drown Mm ! He that hateth his 
brother is a murderer, and no murderer hath eternal life 
abiding in him. If we be baptized by the Spirit, that 
Spirit is love, and love worketh no ill to his neighbor. 

Another says, " I am a Congregationalist. We 

choose to manage our own affairs, independently of 

either pope or bishop." So are we Congregationalists; 

our society is independent, having neither pope nor 

13* 



150 SERMON TO SOLDIERS. 

bishop ; each member has a voice in the government, 
and each feels his responsibiUty for its success. 

Another says, " I am a Methodist ; 1 cannot live 
without class-meetings and love-feasts." Very well ; 
we are Methodists ; we consider it not only the privi- 
lege but also the duty of all members to meet their 
leaders in band, weekly, and relate their experience. 

Then let us be united. The Baptist says, " We will 
be united if all will become Baptists." The Episco- 
palian says, " We must all be linked to St. Peter first ; 
then we will be united." I believe we can be united 
on a broader basis ; we can all become Baptists, all 
Congregationalists, and all Methodists, without diffi- 
culty of compromise. The differences of doctrine are 
not so great as formerly, and by union prayer meetings 
the partition walls of sectarianism are already fast 
being broken down. Hasten the time, O Lord, when 
thy people shall be as one! 

Success. — Marvellous has been our success ; we can 
account for it only upon the principle of union. God 
blesses union efforts. Had I known what opposition I 
must encounter, what infidelity from high places, and 
among professors, what opposition from the clergy and 
religious journals, and what expenses to be borne, I 
should not have pitched my tent in Boston. Nothing 
can be done in a large city without friends or money. 
1 had neither ; my fiery temperament was objection- 
able; my position was offensive to the ecclesiastical 
authorities ; the preachers of my own denomination 
were opposed to me, and determined to stop me, and 
some of the orthodox preachers and journals followed 
suit, A stranger, in a cold-hearted city, where revival 



SERMON TO SOLDIERS. 151 

efforts are exceedingly unpopular, without a friend or 
a dollar pledged, I commenced. One Christian man, 
who loves union meetings very much, and who is 
worth more than a hundred thousand dollars, I thought 
would assist me in time of peril; but alas I he has 
caused me more heartburnings than any other person. 
He met me every few days, and instead of speaking a 
word of encouragement, would discourage me with all 
that lay in his power. Said he, " Morgan, it is of no 
use, you can never succeed ; you will spend all you 
have and kill yourself for nothing. You have no talent 
to preach ; you may think you have, but you have not. 
I am an older man than you, and can judge. You 
might succeed in attracting attention in a small coun- 
try place, but never in Boston. I advise you to stop 
at once-, and immediately leave. The Methodist 
preachers are against you. In their weekly preachers' 
meeting they hold the destiny of every young preacher 
that comes to this city. It is for them to say whether 
he shall preach or not. You cannot stir without their 
favor ; they can crush you, and will do it. It is already 
currently reported among them, and repeated by other 
ecclesiastical authorities, that you are insane. What, 
then, can you hope for if you stay ? My word for it, 
the sooner you leave the better." He gave me advice 
" free, gratis, and for nothing," but no money. The 
last time I saw him, he asked me if I had pulled up 
stakes yet; and putting out only one finger to shake 
hands with me, he turned away. 

About this time a young man handed me a note in 
Music Hall, requesting me to call at his house. I did 
so. He stated his grief that a stranger should be so 
treated, and especially by Methodist authorities. Said 



152 SERMON TO SOLDIERS. 

he, " I love my church and my people, but I love the 
cause more, I am at your service. We will start a 
union society." He immediately commenced a sab- 
bath school, and a society was organized. A few short 
months only have passed. We now have a large sab- 
bath school, a flourishing society, a working member- 
ship, and conversions every week, and almost every 
day. God bless our glorious union. I can see the 
hand of the Lord in all our doings, — when I could 
not preach in the synagogues I turned to the Gentiles. 
To them I am sent — to the neglected, the outcast, the 
forgotten, and the unforgiven. Upon what a small cir- 
cumstance started our union, yet how great may be the 
results ! If God has prospered us so wonderfully thus 
far, what may be our future ? The Shawmut and 
Hedding churches struggled several years, with all their 
wealth and denominational patronage, to get estab- 
lished. We have had neither, and yet have flourished. 
With all the talent of Dr. Kirk, he was supported by 
many men of wealth and influence when starting his 
new enterprise. One thing is certain : if we succeed, it 
is the Lord's doings, and marvellous in our eyes. 
Then, trusting in Him, let us " Fight the good fight of 
faith, and lay hold on eternal life." 

Let every member have something to do, and each 
work in his place. If not to speak, then to pray — ]f 
not to pray, then visit the sick— if not to visit the sick, 
then make garments for poor children — and if not this, 
then give of your money — give of your substance, 
however little. God loves the cheerful giver. It is 
more blessed to give than receive. Try it, and see. 
Oh, try and see that in doing good there is great 
reward ! 



ADDRESS 



AT THE 



f aging 0f i\t &mtxS\mt at i\t llBtpn €\^tl 

AT LONG HILL, CT. 



[Speeches were delivered by Rev. J. M. Reid, of Bridgeport, and Rev. 
E. E. Griswold, Presiding Elder, after which Rev. Mr. Morgan was called 
upon, who spoke nearly as follows : — ] 

Ladies and Gentlemen, — Little did I think, one 
year ago, that we should be able to build a church at 
this' place, and less, that my name would be connected 
with such lasting associations. Then, we were every 
where spoken against, as enthusiasts and fanatics. 
It was no disgrace to spend the midnight hour in 
dancing, drinking, and carousing ; it was no disgrace 
to swear and hoot in the streets, and it was no dis- 
grace for professors of religion to take their children to 
the drunken ball ; but, for a dozen persons to come 
together and sing and pray and respond with a lively 
amen, seemed nothing short of madness. There were 
against us the example of professors, the victims of 
vice, and the prejudice of bigotry. One said that bap- 
tism and confirmation were sufficient to save the 
people; yet the people were baptized and confirmed, 
and were still in their sins. Another declared that the 

153 



154 COriNER-STONE ADDRESS. 

ordinary means of Sabbath ministrations were suffi- 
cient; still sin was unchecked, infidelity was increas- 
ing, and several of the churches were closed for want 
of hearers. Thus, with fightings without and fears 
within, our little band, poor and despised, commenced 
operations. But God was greater than our fears, and 
wrought victories marvellous in our eyes. We now 
compare favorably in number and in spiritual influence 
with our sister churches, and with a prospect of a 
glorious future. And the thought that my name this 
day is placed upon the inscription stone, is too much 
for my feelings, and quite overcomes me. I feel 
humbled, as in dust and ashes, at the thought ; for I am 
but a worm, and unworthy of such honor ; and were 
it for me alone, I could in nowise accept of it. But, 
when I consider the coldness and formality of the 
churches generally, in New England, the appaling 
increase of infidelity, intemperance, and crime, — when 
I consider the opposition you have had to contend with 
to plant an earnest, spiritual, and positive religion, such 
as has force and feeling in it, and such as will preach 
louder against infidelity than all theoretic dogmas com- 
bined, — and when I consider that this religion of expe- 
rience, this religion of the heart rather than the head, 
and these powerful demonstrations of the spirit, are the 
only strong antagonists to sin, the only powers that 
can break the ranks, and scatter the forces of the King's 
enemies, — when I consider that this is to be the universal 
religion of action rather than theory and metaphysical 
speculations, a religion which shall establish the " moun- 
tain of the Lord's house upon the top of the moun- 
tains, and call all nations unto it ;" — under these con- 
siderations I feel that it is the cause you honor, and I 



C0RNER-ST0N3 ADDRESS. 155 

am but a pencil in the hand of the great Artist. My 
reluctance is also increased when I consider that this 
nanfie will remain conspicuous to passers-by, for a life- 
time, whatever may be the fate of the author. It is a 
solemn thought, and fearful are the responsibilities 
resting upon me. Oh, may my faith and future suc- 
cess be equal to your wishes and your prayers ! I am 
soon to roam up and down the world again, and from 
this place may I trim the lamp of my profession, and, 
grasping the firebrands of God's truth, may I carry 
the flames of a revival, from town to town and from 
State to State. May this be the starting-point of a 
general awakening. Why not? All great reforma- 
tions have started from small beginnings. Already 
your example has awakened an interest around you, 
and the churches are astir. Already I hear the inquiry 
from abroad of your success ; already the scandal of 
the cross is wiped away by glorious victories. And 
shall you stop here ? Shall your prayers and sacrifices 
stop, while one sinner remains unconverted ? Shall 
you commence to build, and have it said that you were 
not able to finish ? Shall you put the hand to the 
plough, and look back ? No, ho. Then on to the charge I 
Your victories are but just commenced ; you have taken 
only the outposts and a few scouting parties, while 
the main army is in battle array against you. Let 
your faith be as the blast of the death-angel upon the 
hosts of Sennacherib ; let it be as the tide of the Red 
Sea upon the chariots of Pharaoh. Let its waves rise 
higher and higher in religious experience, until, burst- 
ing the narrow limits of your own neighborhood and 
bearing down every impediment, they shall sweep over- 



156 CORNER-STONE ADDRESS. 

the shores of time, and, dashing against the adaman- 
tine cohimns of immortality, echo back, as they roll, 
" Multitudes I multitudes ! from the valley of Deci- 
sion.'^ " Alleluia ! alleluia I the Lord God omnipotent 
reignethy 





w* 



i 



m 



i> *■*-.; 







-iijf^siSi^'^ 



ORGAN CHAPEL 



Lonp Hill, near Ericlp'eport Cb 



FAREWELL DISCOURSE, 

DELIVERED AT THE LONG HILL CHAPEL, JAN., 1858. 



And now, behold I go bound in the spirit unto Jerusalem, not knowing 
the tilings that shall befall me there. — Acts, 20 : 22. 



These are the words of Paul the apostle, to the 
elders of the church of Ephesus. They form a part 
of one of the most pathetic farewell discourses ever 
recorded. The emotions that fill his soul at parting 
with a church he had ministered to for the space of 
three years, far longer than with any other people, his 
ministrations in public and in private and from house 
to house, the labors of his hand, the trials and persecu- 
tions from the rage of the heathen, and the malice of 
the Jews, and from the arts of the sorcerors and necro- 
mancers, his fighting, like a gladiator, with wild beasts 
at Ephesus, " having the sentence of death upon him, 
pressed out of measure above strength, despairing even 
of life, yet trusting in God who delivered him from so 
great a death," his final success that constrained the 
Spiritualists of that day to publicly burn their books, 
that made Diana's worshippers tremble for their deity, 
and which numbered the days of that " Image which 
fell from Jupiter, whom all Asia and the world wor- 
shippeth," his attachment to the faithful, those who 
stood by him in the hour of trial, not counting their 
14 157 



158 FAREWELL DISCOURSE. 

own lives dear to them, the sorrows that now fill their 
hearts, when reflecting that they should see his face 
no more, the uncertainty of the future, certain in one 
thing only, that of bonds and afflictions, — these recollec- 
tions and anticipations, these commingling emotions 
of pleasure and pain, gratitude and regret, rush upon 
his soul with feelings beyond expression. 

He came to Ephesus a stranger unheralded, and in 
personal appearance uninviting. It was a city of 
immense wealth, whose sacred temple had been the 
storehouse for the foreign and domestic treasures of 
the world, and the repository in which the great artists 
of antiquity placed their works for immortal renown — 
n temple many times larger and more expensive than 
that of Solomon, and instead of being ornamented and 
enriched by the inhabitants of the little country of 
Judea only, the wealth and talent of all Asia con- 
tributed to its oflerings, and made it one of the seven 
•wonders of the world. Its one hundred and twenty- 
seven pillars, magnificently carved in the Ionic style, 
were of Parian marble, sixty feet high, and each column 
said to be the gift of a king. Its halls were adorned 
by the first sculptors and its walls by the first painters 
of antiquity. There the statues of Scopas and Prax- 
iteles stood in matchless beauty and in native grace 
and ease of expression, and there the cold marble 
seemed to beat and breathe with life. There the 
works of Parrhasius and Apelles appeared to walk in 
living majesty from the canvas. The painting of 
Alexander grasping the thunderbolt, alone cost the sun;i 
of twenty talents, — two hundred thousand dollars, — 
and was painted by Apelles, the only artist whom Alex- 
ander would suffer to paint his portrait. The services of 



FAREWELL DISCOURSE. 159 

the temple were no less imposing than its wealth and 
magnificence. The obscurity and mysteries of the 
inner court, the goddess being concealed by a curtain 
until the imagination was wrought to the highest 
pitch and prepared to gaze upon and adore the statue ; 
the strange sights and sounds which aroused the 
imagination, the flashes of lightning and peals of 
mock thunder, said to be the display of the goddess, 
the obscurities occasioned by the smoke of the insense, 
the alternate light and darkness, the hideous sounds 
and fearful apparitions, the variety of vocal and instru- 
mental music to rouse or subdue the passions until 
they were in a proper frame to have the curtain drawn 
for the astonished gaze of the worshippers, — these arts 
could not fail to impose upon the superstitious multi- 
tude, and make Diana an object of wonder and av/e. 
And when the sacred mysteries were performed, as 
they were by Alexander the Great, at Ephesus, still 
more imposing ceremonies awed the candidates for 
initiation. " When the time for initiation arrived they 
were brought into the temple, and, to inspire the greater 
reverence and terror, the ceremony was performed in 
the night. Visions were now seen, voices heard of 
an extraordinary kind. A sudden splendor dispelled 
the darkness of the place, and, disappearing imme- 
diately, added new horrors to the gloom. Apparitions, 
claps of thunder, earthquakes, heightened the terror 
and amazement, whilst the person to be admitted, 
overwhelmed with dread and sweating through fear, 
heard, trembling, the mysterious volume read to him."* 
Such ceremonies, upon the heated brain, must have 

* Rollin. 



160 FAREWELL DISCOURSE. 

filled the candidate with lasting reverence an supersti- 
tion. The Apostle then had much to contend with at 
Ephesus, for it was the seat of mysteries and sorceries; 
and, to human appearance, he had but little prospect 
of success. In contrast to the priests of Diana, who 
were from the first ranks, and possessed of great riches, 
and ministering to kings and potentates, he was a poor 
man, working with his hands, and having the poor for 
his hearers. Instead of the magnificent temple for his 
service, he had a school-house only, being rejected even 
from the despised synagogue, and instead of presenting 
a religion to dazzle the imagination and gratify the 
lusts, the passions, and the appetites, his was to mortify 
the deeds of the flesh, and crucify its affections and 
lusts. The author of his religion was also unpopular, 
condemned and slain by his own countrymen, and he 
himself in bodily presence said to be weak, and in 
speech contemptible. Nevertheless, firm in the convic- 
tion of the truths he preached, and sure in the strength 
of his Master, he let no fatigue, or danger or death pre- 
vent his preaching the word. Now God attends that 
word, by the demonstration of the spirit, and by 
miracles ; the magicians are overwhelmed with con- 
viction, and burn their books ; the apostate sons of 
Sceva the Jew flee, terrified and wounded ; many per- 
sons are converted and baptized, and the great temple 
of Diana, robbed of the charm of her mysteries, and- 
exposed of her impostures, is threatened with desola- 
tion, and her priests and craftsmen with loss of occu- 
pation. 

It were natural, upon looking back upon these trials 
and triumphs, now upon the eve of departure, to be 
filled with deep emotions. His reluctance to leave the 



FAREWELL DISCOURSE. 161 

unsettled church, as lambs in the midst of wolves, his 
unwillingness to part with the faithful elders and those 
who had " borne and had patience " in time of trial, 
and the Spirit that bids him away to new fields and 
dangers, fill his mind with conflicting emotions. But, 
the idea of a universal religion that shall supplant all 
the gods of heathenism, destroy their temples, or 
change them to churches, scatter their idols to the 
moles and bats, overturn sorcery and witchcraft, dry 
up the tears of suffering, and dispel ignorance and 
superstition from the earth, urges him onward. As the 
prancing courser is eager for the race, pawing the 
ground and shaking the mane, or as the war-horse cries 
" aha!" at the sound of the trumpet, thus eager is the 
Apostle to run his course and mix in the fight that 
shall bring the crown of the world's redemption at his 
Master's feet. He longs to enter the contest at Jeru- 
salem, though bonds and afflictions abide him, and he 
longs to preach the doctrine of the Crucified in the 
capitol of the world's empire. He longs to be among 
the first to help usher in that glorious day, when the 
kingdoms of this world shall become the kingdoms of 
our Lord and his Christ, when salvation shall cover the 
earth as the waters cover the sea, when swords shall 
be beaten into ploughshares and spears into pruning 
hooks, and nation shall not lift up sword against 
nation, neither shall they learn war any more. He 
pants for the contest which shall seize that old serpent 
which is the Devil, and bind him for a thousand years, 

— establish the mountain of the Lord's house upon the 
tops of the mountains, and call all nations unto it, — 
which shall make the lion lie down with the lamb, 

— seize the pale horse, and hurl him back upon his 

14* 



162 FAREWELL DISCOURSE. 

haunches, fettered and wounded, to rise no more, un- 
horse his rider, the king of terrors, and rob him of his 
crown and spear, and make him a servant, a welcome 
messenger for the saints, — turn hospitals and prisons 
into chapels, and hell-born and hell-bound distilleries 
into bakeries, — make the wilderness glad, and the 
desert and solitary place rejoice and blossom as the 
rose, — present the fruit of the vine bending down in 
golden clusters, inviting man to partake, never more to 
intoxicate, — doom the last rum-seller, reform the last 
drunkard, free the last slave, dry up the tears of the 
last widow, house the last orphan, and, under the 
benign rays of the Sun of Righteousness, pouring its 
beams of bliss and light and love upon the quietude of 
earth, unfurl the halcyon wing of peace, and spread 
its balmy loveliness over the sportive innocence of a 
redeemed world. Such were the motives which im- 
pelled the Apostle to leave Ephesus, that he might 
enter a wider field and be more conspicuously engaged 
in the contest for the supremacy of the universal 
religion. In a much humbler degree, these are my 
motives in leaving this youthful church at the present 
time. As the Methodist rules will not allow me to be 
preacher-in-charge of the church which I have builded, 
I feel that my call is away, and I long to be engaged 
in a wider field of usefulness, have larger accommoda- 
tions for my audience, and battle on more difficult 
ground. When I first commenced to preach at Long 
Hill, we had trials to contend with not unlike those at 
Ephesus. Our numbers were few and feeble, while in- 
temperance, infidelity, and midnight revelry ran riot, 
and bigotry, stronger than Jewish envy, gnashed her 
teeth, and stirred up the people against us, and the 



FAREWELL DISCOURSE. 163 

votaries of drink at the shrine of Diana were enraged, 
and the craftsmen thereof cried, " Our craft is in 
danger ; " and the Spiritualists, the modern exorcists, 
conjured up their opposition spirits, saying, *' We 
adjure you by Jesus whom Paul preacheth." Yel, 
poor and weak as we were, the God of Sabaoth laid 
to his hepling hand ; miracles of grace were wrought ; 
our hall, or school-house was found too small, a church 
was built, and now, in one year's time, you stand 
respectably among the congregations, and compare 
favorably in numbers and influence with any church in 
these parts. It is natural, at parting with you, to 
reflect upon the past, and contemplate the future, both 
as regards the church and myself. 

First, the church. — As a church you stand con- 
spicuous, as an example of perseverence and faith, for 
these degenerate days. The tooth of envy, the torch 
of bigotry, the sneer of pride, the rage of rum, and the 
malice of infidels all have not swerved you from your 
purpose, or tarnished your name, or left even the smoke 
upon your garments. He that was for you was more 
than they that were against you. You have seen what 
an unwavering faith in the promises of God may 
accomplish. It has emboldened you on to action and 
to prayer and sacrifices worthy of olden times. It has 
made the distance of miles seem but a short journey, 
and the darkness of night as safe as the light of the 
day. It has made hunger, fatigue, and cold appear as 
nothing in the sight of spiritual enjoyment It has 
made earthly burdens easy, and the weight of affliction 
light. It has made you to grow as a people, and to 
extend your borders as a church. It has made formal- 



164 FAREWELL DISCOURSE. 

ism astonished at your progress, and compelled to take 
lessons from the tactics of your school. It is wonderful 
what victories may be wrought simply by faith ; what 
power it has to " subdue kingdoms, work righteous- 
ness, obtain promises, stop the mouths of lions, wax 
valiant in fight, and turn to flight the armies of the 
aliens." With but little talent, and no worldly honors, 
faith may walk down the windings of sophistry, the 
cells of iniquity, penetrate the fortresses of unbelief, 
and, with the sword of God's eternal truth, charge the 
votaries of sin, rout the powers of darkness, and in the 
face of mocking and sporting lords of persecution, enter 
the temple of Dagon Infidelity, prostrate the image 
upon his face, seize the mighty pillars, and, with an 
invisible, almighty, eternal power, heave from their 
deep foundations the God -defiant columns in one 
general catastrophe. And upon its ruins, faith, trium- 
phant faith erects her temple, extending far and wide, 
reaching unto heaven, and laying the foundation of her 
columns deep in conviction and repentance, and with 
spiritual stones, elect and precious, cemented in love, 
garnished with hope, overarched with perfection, and 
without the sound of the hammer, rear her jasper walls 
radiant with glory, a building fitly framed together, 
growing into an holy temple in the Lord : in whom ye 
also are builded together, for an habitation of God 
through the Spirit. Yes, Faith, without the noise of the 
axe or the tool of iron, under the direction of the wise 
Master-builder, Jesus Christ being the chief corner- 
stone, love the key-stone, and hope the capital, sets her 
stones with fair colors, in the blood of the covenant, and 
the halls of love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, 
kindness, charity, decorates her walls with the trophies 



FAREWELL DISCOURSE 165 

of tribulation and robes of righteousness, dedicates her 
palaces of salvation with the voice of harpers, pipers, 
and trumpeters, and as the music rolls up the labyrinth 
from hall to hall, Faith adds to her halls that of virtue, 
and to virtue knowledge, and to knowledge temper- 
ance, and to temperance patience, and to patience 
godliness, and to godliness brotherly kindness, and to 
brotherly kindness charity, when sanctification crowns 
the last stone on the top of the temple on the mountain 
of the Lord's house, with shoutings, from head-stone to 
key-stone and capital, crying, " Grace^ grace^ grace 
unto iV Such is the power of faith. With only a 
shout a Jericho may fall ; only believe, and a new 
Jerusalem strikes our view. By faith, ye have builded 
your spiritual house and erected this temple, dedicated 
to the worship of Almighty God. By faith, ye have 
won your victories. By faith you live, and not by 
sight, and by faith we hope to meet again in a brighter 
world. " And now behold I go bound in the spirit to 
Jerusalem, not knowing the things that shall befall me 
there, save that the Holy Ghost witnesseth in every city, 
saying that bonds and afflictions abide me." I now 
cut the cable that has so long anchored me among you ; 
and for the swellings of untried seas, I leave the harbor 
of my dearest recollections. As I seem to be receding, 
and my little bark pushes from shore, I turn back for 
one farewell glance at the friends, the homes, and the 
objects of interest which have occupied the choicest 
moments of my life. Here I have toiled and suffered, 
and have finally triumphed, by the help of God and 
faithful friends. The scenes are dear to me, because 
here has been my first, regular pitched battle, and 
here the first congregation which I could call my own. 



166 FAREWELL DISCOURSE. 

It is a matter of congratulation that the congregation 
still holds its own ; but few have died, and but few have 
gone back to the world. The faces that rose from 
the altar, for the first time beaming with exultations 
of hope and victory, I see before me still smiling with 
the same hope. And the friends that risked much and 
sacrificed much for me, are still faithful to the cause of 
God. And I am happy that they have lost nothing in 
associations with me, but have gained in every thing. 
So I hope it may ever be, that no person by me 
shall lose any thing in reputation or spiritual interest, 
and may never be brought into a smaller place, but 
into a larger one. My object is to do them good, and 
not evil; and if I can bring out the talent of one young 
man to the world, whereby the world may be bene- 
fited, I shall be thankful. I have been here contending 
for a principle; — it is the right to preach in a natural, 
earnest, and colloquial manner, whatever prejudice, 
bigotry, and custom may say to the contrary notwith- 
standing. God helping me, I intend to pursue the 
same course with renewed energy when I arrive at 
Boston. And now behold I go bound in the spirit 
to that city, "not knowing the things that shall befall 
me there." If I succeed in winning many souls to 
Christ, if the multitude hang upon my lips as at other 
times, and God attends the word with power, I hope 
you may share with me the victory. And when you 
receive tokens of my success, I hope to be remembered 
in your prayers, and by the little victories we have 
won, let us think of each other, and at the heavenly 
places where wc have worshipped together in Christ 
Jesus, let our interests be reciprocal, and there may I 
be remembered. If I am unfortunate and shall lose 



FAREWELL DISCOURSE. IGT 

my reputation or my health, and come back forlorn 
and destitute, it is a consolation to know that I may 
yet have friends who will not yet cast me off in time 
of need, and who will not close the door to my dis- 
tress, or witness my sufferings without feelings of . 
compassion. There are no acquaintances so dear, and 
no associations so sweet, as those formed at the feet of 
Jesus. There to bind those acquaintances are con- 
nected the interests of two worlds, the union of mortal 
and immortal powers. And if memory shall be al- 
lowed in Heaven to look upon places and faces on 
earth, the dearest place in all our recollection will be 
where we gave our hearts to God; and the faces first 
in our affections will be those that pointed us to the 
Lamb of God. Then the friendship that binds us 
together, is of the purest nature. And when I re- 
member how many prayers you have offered for me, 
and even at the midnight hour, how many sacrifices 
you have made to get to the meetings, and fill your 
post of duty, what anxieties you have felt for my in- 
terest and that of Zion, what forbearance you have ex- 
hibited toward my weaknesses, what forgiveness toward 
my faults, what confidence in the integrity of my 
heart and the honesty of my intentions, and with what 
unhesitating willingness ye have complied with my 
wishes, — when I consider these, I feel unworthy of such 
friends, and unworthy of the confidence you have placed 
in me. But God knows my heart, and unworthy as I 
am, and hard as may be my heart, I cannot forget these 
kindnesses, these sacrifices, and these prayers, so long 
as memory holds her reign. 1 cannot forget the hearty 
welcomes with which I have been greeted at your 
homes, the generous board spread for my gratification 



168 FAREWELL DISCOURSE. 

and pleasure, the friendly encouragements and con- 
gratulations, the kind counsels, the family altar, and 
songs and conversations about Jesus; I cannot forget 
this church and this altar, the altar where we have so 
many times kneeled, where the heavenly powers have 
come down to our waiting souls in overflowing rap- 
tures, where our hearts have been united in that love 
which passeth knowledge, where we have taken the 
emblems of our blessed Lord in the holy eucharist. I 
cannot forget this building, the subject of so much 
care and anxiety, so many prayers and sacrifices ; T 
cannot forget its associations. No, its tall spire is the 
last lingering object of which I lose sight, in my slow 
and reluctant retreat, and the first to greet me in my 
return. When its gilded vane shall first meet the 
morning sun, may that sun find me in prayer for your 
prosperity. When that sun, full risen, with its resplen- 
dent beams, pours its flood of light and love upon your 
Sabbath gatherings, and when you are assembled with 
one accord in one place, with hearts all elated, with 
the raptures of joy and blessings of hope, listening to 
the one who may fill my place, more acceptably per- 
haps than myself, still in the midst of your pleasures, 
remember me, a lone wanderer up and down the world ; 
and let your faith, swifter than the rays of the sun, 
bring answers of peace to my inquiring soul, and like 
the telegraphic shock, may the electric spark tell me 
that I am thought of when far away. 

What a strange, mysterious power there is in faith 
and prayer, to bind souls in a union and harmony of 
feeling, while they are many miles apart. I have often, 
when in scenes of danger and death, felt this. When 
weary with hearing the complaints of the prisoner, and 



FAREWELL DISCOURSE. 169 

with comforting the mourning, when faint with visiting 
from couch to couch in the hospital, until lying down 
in sorrow, as an invalid among invalids, I have felt the 
spell come over me like a dream that roused my droop- 
ing spirits, refreshing my soul, and I could but be- 
lieve that it was in answer to a mother's prayer. 
When on foot and alone, in the wilderness of Canada, 
fatigued and exhausted, I lay down resigned to the 
will of heaven, the thought of praying friends, anx- 
ious for my welfare, and waiting to welcome me back 
again, darted like lightning across my mind, and I 
arose and resolved by the energy of hope to meet 
them. What but the spirit of the living God can in- 
spire and answer prayers thus in our necessity ? As 
our day is so shall our strength be. When wandering 
alone over the Green Mountains, in darkness and in 
the snow-storm of winter, as I lay gently down upon 
the bank with my face and fingers then frozen, and 
was sinking into that sleep which knows no waking, 
a voice struck my dying ear, " What doest thou here, 
Elijah?" And forthwith, when I arose, I saw far down 
from the heights the light of a taper ; and through the 
falling snow, I soon discovered it proceeded from a 
cottage, which might shelter me for the night. So 
God again interposed for my safety and caused a light 
to burn at midnight, — a thing unknown for years in that 
dwelling, — to rescue me; for what purpose I know not, 
except that I might serve him in my weak way a little 
while longer, and comfort some poor mourner and 
point him to Jesus, not for any worth or worthiness 
of my own, for I feel less than the least of his saints, 
and unworthy the humblest seat in your sanctuary. 
While a lone wanderer upon the earth, I was a child 
15 



170 FAREWELL DISCOURSE. 

of suffering; but these sufferings weaned me more from 
the earth, and made me more like my Master. In perils 
by sea, in perils by land, in perils in the city and perils 
in the wilderness, in perils by robbers, and in perils by 
false brethren, in cold, and in nakedness, in watchings 
and fastings, in hunger and thirst, — all these I suffered ; 
and now, leaving the quiet of a retired and friendly 
people, I am about to launch upon a boisterous sea of 
trouble again. I know not what may befall me, save 
that bonds and afflictions abide me. I have given up 
all hope of living in peace, while the armor of God is 
upon me and the enemy remains in the field. I have 
tried to compromise with the world, and have tried to 
appease the envy of false brethren and the prejudice 
of my brethren in the ministry. I have said to the 
ministry, "Let Ephraim no more envy Judah, and 
Judah shall not vex Ephraim, for we are brethren." 
The lamented Summerfield, humble and devoted as 
he was, remarked, " I really believe that some of the 
preachers wish me dead." Sad thought! but too true. 
An earnest, fearless, heaven-inspired, and hell-opposing 
watchman will be calumniated by thieves and hire- 
lings. Puerile and inefficient as may be my efforts, I 
have lived long enough to know that they must be 
fraught with opposition. " Poor Maffit I " says Dr. 
Bascom ; " Maffit died literally of a broken heart." If 
this were all, his fate was only the fate of many ora- 
tors, whose hearts have broken in an instant; but to 
have the envy of almost all the ministry to back up 
whatever slander may invent, and to noise it in the 
religious journals, that novelists and police gazettes 
might multiply fictions to order, to drive him to the ex- 
tremities of our shores, and in those remote parts to 



FAREWELL DISCOURSE. 171 

chase him with flaming bulletins, and after his death 
to traduce his ashes by accusing him of a criminal 
death, — these are more than charity should allow, with- 
out more testimony than hearsay. I hope the life of 
Maffit will soon be published, without prejudice and 
with the full facts, that the church may be relieved 
from the present odium of his name. That he was 
weak and frail none will doubt ; but that he was highly 
criminal I am slow to believe. St. Chrysostom, bishop 
of Constantinople, whose matchless eloquence won 
him the title of ^'' golden-mouthed J^ was banished, be- 
cause, like John the Baptist, he offended the ladies of 
court, and died an exile. His bones were afterwards 
brought back, and he was canonized as a saint, and 
now stands perhaps pre-eminent among the ecclesiastic 
fathers. A man cannot be correctly judged by popu- 
lar prejudice; posterity alone can judge unbiased of his 
merits. But few persons have met with more oppo- 
sition from the ministry than Henry B. Bascom, who 
finally became Chaplain to Congress, and bishop of the 
M. E. Church, South. While knocking at the door 
of conference, he was time after time rejected, and 
was finally received by his jealous compeers, only on 
condition that the bishop would remove him immedi- 
ately out of that conference, and out of the State. 
Yet few persons ever lived who could compete with 
his eloquence, or when fully aroused, could stand be- 
fore the tornado of its vehemence. However, he 
carried with him to the grave, the recollections of his 
early trials and his clerical injuries. As the Jews were 
Paul's most malignant enemies, and would be the first 
to seize him when he should arrive at Jerusalem, so 
the most bitter j^ersecution against a spiritual refor- 



172 FAREWELL DISCOURSE. 

mation comes generally from the established clergy. 
Then, with my eyes open to danger, and certain only 
in one thing, that of affliction, I can say that " none of 
these things move me," neither count I my life dear 
unto myself, so that I might finish my course with joy, 
and the ministry which I have received of the Lord 
Jesus. The only things that move me, are the tears 
which I see suffusing your eyes, and the thought that 
I may see your faces no more. The thought brings 
before me the lovely past, with all its associations of 
love and heavenly union ; and when you sing, " What I 
never part again ? " my soul says, if partings be so 
severe let us meet where we never shall part again. 
And the music of this choir I shall remember, — a music 
coming from hearts that can pray as well as sing, and 
who need no instrument to keep time with their voices. 
Oh, how I shall miss you when far away! When weary 
and low in spirits, and when the battle goes against 
me, oh, how I shall long for one of your songs of Zion! 
and then, ah! then, when victory is wavering or against 
me, I shall miss that Macedonian phalanx, that never 
once failed me in the shock of battle, or turned their 
back upon the enemy, — that brave band which has 
stemmed all weather, all storm, all persecution, all 
trials, and have not counted their lives dear unto them, 
for my sake and the gospel. 

And now, as my little bark pusnes off from these 
golden shores, these sweet associations, permit me to 
thank you ; in the name of God and the church of his 
Son, to thank you. Yet thanks cannot express my 
meaning ; it is too cold a term ; and the letters of 
language and the sound of words cannot do it; nothing 
but that Spirit, which has so long witnessed with our 



FAREWELL DISCOURSE. 173 

spirits, — witnessed our love, our faith, our prayers for 
each dther, our holy communion and heavenly re- 
joicings, which has upheld us, defended, sustained us, 
in doubt and fears, in trials and conflicts ; which has 
made us feel for others more than ourselves, and prefer 
others above ourselves ; which has made us of one 
heart, one mind, one spirit, bearing all things, hoping 
all things, believing all things, enduring all things ; — 
that Spirit only can tell the gratitude of my feelings and 
the overflowing of my heart. To say that I love you 
and thank you, is to say but little ; and to say that you 
have been kind and friendly, is what many may say ; 
but to say that, when an outcast, a wanderer, and but 
a boy of a preacher, a birdling first beating his untried 
wings, you took me in and licensed me, and counselled 
me, and placed your reputation in jeopardy for me, and 
watched me as a parent bird over her callow young, — 
and to say that under God I owe my elevation as a 
preacher to your efforts and your prayers, is nothing 
more than the truth, and far short of the hidden mean- 
ing and spiritual interpretation of language. Then 
reluctantly and with suppressed feelings of emotions, 
deep struggling for utterance, comes that endearing 
and oft -repeated word — farewell! Yet it is repeated 
on more solemn occasions than this; it comes from 
the sick couch, and from the thick lips, moving back 
and forth with the last strugglings of the spirit — lips, 
whose doors are forced open by the heavings of a 
departing breath, bearing upon its march the going forth 
of the soul; — then comes, in suppressed and dying 
accents, the heart-severing and soul-thrilling farewell ! 
Farewell comes from the grave, as bereaved and 
mourning friends stand round, paying their last honors 
15* 



174 FAREWELL DISCOURSE. 

to the dead, when rush swift. as a dream over the soul 
thoughts of the departed, the vacant couch, the vacant 
hall, the vacant chair, the vacant garments, and all the 
dear associations of love and hope now desolate for- 
ever, and as the grating coffin edges to the brink and 
settles down, bearing with it the hearts and hopes of a 
mother's or a sister's love, bedewed with the last tears 
they may shed upon its lid, the last offering of van- 
quished hope, there is a sound, — oh I it is a solemn 
sound, — as the first turf strikes upon the coffin lid; it 
brings, as a groan from another world, the ear-piercing 
and heart-breaking farewell ! and the falling earth, 
shuddering with the crush of the chariot wheels of 
death, rumbling through the dark portals, echoes fare- 
well! and the dark angel at the gates, throwing the 
pall of oblivion over the scene, and swiftly hurrying 
away the unforgotten, and closing the gates, replies, 
farewell! and the iron bars harsh grating resound 
farewell ! and the guardian Spirit appointed to accom- 
pany good men out of the world, returning and resting 
upon the cheek of bereavement, in the tear of sorrow, 
and now departing on the breath of anguish, catches 
the wing of the first zephyr that whistles by, and dying 
away in ^olian symphony, whispers farewell ! There 
is another place where the word will sound, and with 
still more solemnity. It is at the judgment. There 
the faithful and the faithless will meet, parents and 
children, husbands and wives, pastors and people. 
There a mother will weep over an erring daughter, 
and there, perhaps, the daughter may say, " Mother, 
you never warned me ; you gave me the gay clothing 
and furnished me for the pleasure party and the ball ; 
but you told me nothing of Jesus ! 1 had the robe for 



FAREWELL DISCOURSE. ' 175 

the dance, but no robe of righteousness ! " Ah ! there 
will be severings of the strongest ties, with no hopes of 
meeting again ! Parents and children will have such 
partings as they had never before dreamed of! And 
the thought wellnigh overwhelms me, when I con- 
sider that God has placed me in so responsible a 
position, having the care of so many souls, and that 
you will meet me at the judgment! Then comes the 
question, How have I conducted myself? Have I 
showed a meek and lowly mind, have I been able to 
have patience, and have I been a copy of my Master? 
Could I bear all things, believe all things, endure all 
things ? Have I faithfully warned the wandering, re- 
claimed the backslider, and comforted the mourning? 
Have I showed the example of Jesus in my life and 
conversation ? Have I felt that my example speaks 
louder than preaching ? Have I felt that you will there 
stand, either to accuse or excuse me ? These things 
overcome my feelings. The thought is too much for 
me. Oh, may God forgive the frailties of my nature, 
the inefficiency of my ministry, and the poor example 
of my life! And may you, my Christian friends, so 
live that your example may be worthy of imitation, 
and that you may meet, never to part again. And 
you, who are unconverted, you who have been so 
respectful to the cause of Christ, so friendly to me, 
have wept so many times over your sins, — what shall I 
say to you? Our parting is now at hand, and you 
are yet in your sins. Can it be that we shall meet, 
face to face, at the bar of God? Oh ! then, I entreat 
you, treasure up the solemn warnings which you have 
heard, and let them not testify against you. Make one 
thing sure, if all things else are precarious : let heaven 



176 FAREWELL DISCOURSE. 

be yours, if all your hopes on earth be lost. And now the 
guardian Spirit that has thus far inspired me, tells me 
that I must close — tells me that I must leave you. 
That Spirit seems to speak what I cannot utter, and per- 
form the painful duty for me. Its harp-strings are tuned 
to the strains of a most affecting farewell. I see it re- 
luctantly come from your quivering lips; upon them the 
deep sigh pours its mournful numbers. I see it in the 
tearful eye, as the well-springs of the heart open the foun- 
tains of their feelings and overflow the sluices of the soul. 
I see in saint and sinner the working of that Spirit 
melting your hearts as one, and subduing the harsher 
feelings of your nature. That Spirit must bid the 
unwelcome word for me. That Spirit, hovering over 
this altar, and touching the lips of the kneeling wor- 
shippers with fire from the eternal throne, must inspire 
those lips with the notes of a mournful farewell. 
Farewell to this altar and this sacred desk dedicated 
to the word and worship of almighty God ; farewell to 
these walls echoing the praise of salvation, and these 
seats filled with attentive listeners ; farewell to these 
faces that I may not see again, farewell to the leaders 
of this laboring church ; farewell to that choir which 
has been the solace of many a weary hour, and the 
strength of many an encounter. And with them I 
sound the last strain, my footsteps slowly retire, and 
the shadows of twilight are coming on, my spirit 
reluctantly retreats down the dell, with harp-strings 
less loud. Now through the silent vale and winding 
ravine, and mixing with the vapors of evening, and on 
the leaf rustling with the soft zephyr, comes whispering 
with lessening cadence in the dim distance that last, 
indistinct, yet solemn farewell ! 



A NEGRO CONGREGATION. 



LETTER FROM RICHMOND, VA., MARCH, 1853. 

On Sunday last I preached twice, and to peculiar 
audiences : first to the prisoners, then to the slaves. 
The church for colored people here is built in the shape 
of a cross, having three galleries and four or five doors 
for entrance, and will hold more than a thousand per- 
sons. It was packed full of human beings, almost to 
suffocation. I commenced service by reading a chap- 
ter, but was interrupted by the preacher, who ordered 
the windows to be raised. It was timely, for pure air 
was much needed. I speak it with all gravity. The 
preacher is learned enough, if learning is what is 
needed for the salvation of such an audience ; for he is 
President of Richmond College, and of course is a 
white man, no other in these parts being allowed to 
preach, any more than the women were by St. Paul. It 
is a state prison offence even for a master to teach his 
slave to read. But slaves will steal books, and get little 
children to teach them ; and, as they have no dictionary, 
they are not responsible either to Walker or Webster 
for definitions of their big words! And such big 
words, such multiplication of the mute consonants in 
articulation, such b, d, p, k, jaw-breakers, — may be 
among the things unlawful for mortals to utter. How- 
ever, they perhaps will not be accountable. They can-- 

177 



178 A NEGRO CONGREGATION. 

not preach, but they can pray in public; and here is 
where we are charmed, more perhaps with the sound 
of their volubility than with the sense. This is a great 
theatre for a young preacher, to practise in pulpit ora- 
tory, — that is, if he wants to study Nature, and read 
human passion and feeling from Nature's own pages, 
rather than from books. One hour here is worth 
more than the theoretical drilling and sham gesticula- 
tions of a whole college course. If eloquence be in 
the man here, it must come out. There are no cold, 
heartless critics to put the brakes on the first impetus 
of passion, (unless it be some members of the legisla- 
ture who come in out of curiosity, as they did here; 
but they left before I had spoken ten minutes), no 
iceberg formalists to curb the first vaultings of feeling, 
or to seize the helm upon the first gale of excitement. 
Only let them know that you feel kindly towards 
them, that you come in friendship, that you feel for 
their souls, and show that feeling by a single tear from 
your own eyes, and the audience is at your complete 
command. Truly, ye may sail with none to question 
your reckoning, and on ! on ! ye may scud away before 
the strongest gale, over a billowy sea of upturned faces. 
My subject was heaven and hell, or the rich man and 
Lazarus. Unaccustomed to such sympathy from an 
audience, I was at once borne on a tide of feeling be- 
yond myself, and perhaps was as much carried away 
with the excitement as were my congregation. When 
I passed in imagination down the infernal regions, I 
seemed as upon an avalanche sliding headlong and 
carrying my audience with me. I seemed to feel the 
pestilential winds fan my cheek as I darted down, and I 
almost breathed the sulphurous flames. And when I 



A NEGRO CONGREGATION. 179 

unconsciously groaned at the horrors of the lost, and 
looked lip with lips burning, and eyes wistful for drops 
of water, I found that not only were the whole house 
groaning, sighing, and weeping with me, but those in 
the gallery, with eyes staring, mouths open, and hands 
extended, seemed on the point of coming down to 
my rescue. And now, as pang was linked on pang 
and year on year through eternal ages rolling, and 
hope's last glimmer was lost in eternal night, and wail 
succeeded to wail and groan to groan, — then was the 
audience shaken like the ocean in a tempest, and their 
wailings were as the ocean wind howling at the mouth 
of a rocky cave. Oh, I pitied them that I had been 
so severe I I felt they n^lded more of mercy than of 
judgment. I stopped, took a draught of water, and 
told them to wipe their tears, for we were going to 
contemplate a scene where all tears were wiped away. 
And in a moment what an easing up was there! 
what a letting off of suspended breath! and what a 
wiping of faces ! Think of a great ship loaded with 
human beings, driving ten knots an hour among the 
breakers, — beings whose death-shrieks of despair are 
only equalled by the bowlings of wind and wave, and 
all appears lost in darkness and storm, — when in a 
moment a counter wind comes up, she veers off and 
comes to, and as the clouds break away, her sheets 
flap and quiver and glisten tremblingly in the light, — 
then she starts on her tack ; — thus appeared that vast 
assembly, just escaped from destruction ; — and now, 
loosing stays for a new tack, they ease off for a mo- 
ment, and let their tears be dried as shrouds in the sun- 
beams. " Come and see how a good man can die. 
Come and see one whose pulses beat easy though he 



180 A NEGRO CONGREGATION. 

may lie by the way side, — one whose wounds may 
have no oil, and whose spirit no earthly balm. The 
dogs are his only sympathizers, his only physicians, 
and his only mourners. 

" But look through that dark cloud above, and in faith 
see that light ! There come a host of angels, and with 
overshadowing wings they watch the soul's last strug- 
gle, — the last throbbing of the pulse, — the last beating 
of the heart, — the last heaving sigh ; and now, as the 
ear is dull to sounds without, the inner ear is charmed 
with celestial voices ; and as the sight grows dim, faith 
sees the angels, and the soul, struggling to break its 
umbilical cord from earth, now nestles, now flutters, 
now claps its bright wings, p|id bursts its fetters, and 
mounting higher and higher, is escorted by angel con- 
voys to Abraham's bosom." When I pictured the last 
struggles of the soul panting to be free, and waved my 
arms as wings beating the air, and then at the victori- 
ous moment brought my hands together with a mighty 
clap, many a hand followed the example with clappings 
and with shoutings of " Glory ! glory ! glory to God ! " 
I continued, and said, " Where is Lazarus ? What part 
of heaven is for the poor man and the slave ? Let us 
picture the beauties of heaven as rich men would have 
it. Here I behold the upper courts, — the courts for 
kings and princes. Here I see the palaces for the rich 
men, the mighty men, and the chief captains. These 
constitute the oligarchy of heaven. They have a 
higher order of cherubim to minister to their joys, and 
more melodious harps. And there I see poor Lazarus 
and the poor slave in the outer courts — in the more 
secluded part, and in the lower foundations. And in 
fact, it is but the kitchen-place of heaven. They have 



A NEGRO CONGREGATION. 181 

angels, but of a lower grade ; and harps, but of humbler 
minstrelsy. They can taste but slightly of the waters, 
and the tree of life, and take only what others refuse. 
O my Saviour ! is this heaven ? Are there such dis- 
tinctions here ? Where, then, is Lazarus ? Where is 
Abraham ? O ye poor slaves ! ye despised human 
beings ! ye who are poorer than poverty's own self, 
whose flesh and bones are not your own ! Tell me, 
ignorant as you are, who was Abraham ? Was he 
not the father of the faithful ? Then is he not honored 
among the highest seats of heaven ? And tell me, 
then, where is Lazarus — poor, despised Lazarus ? He 
who had the dogs for his watchers, a stone for his pil- 
low, and a ditch for his burial-place ? Where is he ? 
Look ye ! — Above the rich and the mighty I above the 
high priests and chief captains I Look far up yonder, 
and tell me what gives us the high places in heaven ? 
Is it money, or is it faith ? Then see Lazarus drop- 
ping off the garments of mortality and putting on the 
clean white robe that the angels brought him. See 
him, like the insect, leaving his bark to spread his 
wings ! See him, with harp in hand, mount upward ! 
See the angels escort him through the gates, with 
shoutings, " Lazarus has come! — poor, neglected, con- 
temned, disdained Lazarus I " See him pass by the 
rich and the noble, by the kings and the priests, away 
up ! up ! Glory to God! See him above the prophets 
and the ancient worthies, above the apostles, away 
up in the high bosom of Abraham. Shout it, ye 
poor ! Lazarus is saved in the highest heaven ! Oh, 
shout and clap your hands, ye slaves! There is a 
heaven for you, where the wicked cease from troubling, 
and where the weary be at rest Where the prisoners 
16 



182 A NEGRO CONGREGATION. 

rest together, and hear not the voice of the oppressor. 
The small and the great are there ; and the servant is 
free from his master." When I said, " shout and clap 
your hands," many of them took the order literally, and 
they literally fulfilled it, so that the last words were 
drowned in the commotion. One old slave was so 
happy, she did not seem to know whether she was in 
the body or out. She jumped and danced and shouted, 
and, as the little pew could not hold her, out she came 
into the aisle, jumped up higher and higher, and 
took such high leaps for heaven, was so determined 
to go up bodily, that it took two men to hold her 
back. As they seized her hands to steady her, and 
prevent her from injuring herself against the seats, an 
invitation was given for mourners to come forward. 
And such a rush, such praying, and such singing, 
baffle all attempt at description. The occasion was 
profitable to myself, and I trust, notwithstanding the 
exuberance of their animal feelings, much good was 
done. 



NEGRO PREACHING. 



It was on a bright sabbath morning that I was 
sauntering the streets of Augusta, hesitating whither to 
go for religious service, when I beheld a company of 
colored people making their way for Zion's Church. I 
concluded for once to witness the free worship of a 
congregation of slaves. For, in the States further 
north, in Virginia and the Carolinas, slaves were not 
allowed to preach or conduct meetings for themselves. 
I entered and found them singing. And such singing! 
such heavenly, soul-thrilling singing ! Oh ! away with 
your Italian Seigniors and Signoras, and your Tom 
Toodleini and Madame Doodleini, when we can have 
such hearty, spirited, rapturous singing as this, where 
the whole congregation were united in praising their 
Maker, with a spirit and pathos that told they meant 
and felt what they sang. I found the audience, gener- 
ally, very well dressed ; and among many of them, 
silks, broadcloth, silver-headed canes, gold chains, fancy 
dresses, and genteel bearings abounded, even perhaps 
in excess of good taste. The preacher was not, how- 
ever, so refined nor even so intellectual as many of his 
congregation. His frame, language, voice, and gestures 
bespoke a man of strong physical powers, accustomed 
to hard lifting, and sweating toil. But whatever was 
wanting in refinement was more than compensated in 

183 



184: NEGRO PREACHING. 

force of character and strength of expression. He 
at least would obey one Scriptural injunction — " What- 
ever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might." 
When he prayed it appeared as if all heaven and earth 
were moving. He seemed like Samson kneeling down 
at the foot of the pillars of unbelief, and with clenched 
hands, quivering lips, eyes rolled back in their sock- 
ets, breast heaving with the travail of a pent-up 
spirit, struggling to overturn Satan's empire, and his 
voice, quite stentorian, rising with the subject, as 
from the crack of musketry to the roar of artillery, or 
from the first rumblings to the explosive sounds of 
thunder, till, reaching the climax of feeling, all his 
physical, intellectual, and spiritual powers were united 
in that voice to burst in a thunderbolt of conviction 
upon the responsive audience. One would suppose 
that, like Jacob, he had the angel of the covenant wrest- 
ling with him, and would not let him go until he had 
got the new name, whereby all the store-house of 
heaven should be at his command, and blessings abun- 
dant and enduring, must come at his bidding. In hear- 
ing that man preach and pray I felt my littleness as a 
public speaker. I had heard the great models of elo- 
quence, studied the chief masters, and witnessed the 
elocutionist in training his disciples to strut and stare 
and drill in artificial attitude and gesture, and in sham 
modulation of the emphatic stress, the double emphatic 
stress, and the absolute emphatic stress, but all seemed 
mockery before this unlettered African. Here was 
Nature's own model, speaking her own language. 
Whatever education might have added to the finish or 
diminished from the force of his oratorical powers, is not 
for me to say ; but he seemed at this time a man for 



NEGRO PREACHING. 185 

the occasion. He could not write, ana was a poor 
reader ; so much so that, in reading his hymn, where a 
word was not familiar, he would stop to spell it out, or 
be assisted by some voice in the audience. Much of 
his eloquence on the present occasion was owing to 
the peculiar state of his feelings. He had buried a 
member of his congregation a few days before ; and I 
thought from appearances she might have been his 
wife. Her Christian experience, as related by him, 
was very superior, and his grief on her account was 
excessive. He chose heaven as a theme for his dis- 
course, and apparently was anxious himself to leave 
this world of sorrow for a seat in heaven. It is said 
that there is but a step from the sublime to the ridicu- 
lous ; and I almost fear to record any of his pithy and 
pathetic expressions on this account. Although none 
of the audience, not even strangers who came out of 
curiosity, could resist the torrent of his eloquence ; yet 
his words upon paper, without the force of his voice and 
gestures, could convey no adequate idea of the man. 
To appreciate his language at all, we must imagine an 
audience familiar with his brogue, having the utmost 
confidence in his piety, and by the power of his prayer, 
the melody of their singing, and the bereavement 
which they had suffered, excited to the highest pitch of 
expectation, and who now, to grasp the good, would 
overlook all imperfections. His discourse was, as I 
said, upon heaven. Rev. 21 : 1 : " And I saw a new 
heaven," etc. Said he — " De language wid which we 
describe heaben must be figertib. Dat is, it be bor- 
rowed from de figures, de objects and de sensabilities 
ob earth. De first figure we shall use in describing 
heaben is rest. Dar de wicked cease from troubling, 
16* 



186 NEGRO PREACHING. 

and dar de weary be at rest. Dar de saints rest from 
dar labors and dar works do faller dem. Rest to de 
laborin man be sweet. Oh, de sweet comforts ob rest I 
See dat weary man comin home from his work. He 
haf toiled all de day long, from de dawn ob de mornin 
till dark. His skin be burned and blistered and baked 
till it be like de skin ob de elephant. De sweat haf 
poured off from him, till dar be no more sweat in him. 
His bones be so achin as if a hot iron was runnin frew 
de marrow ; and his legs am so tired dat one ob dem 
will scarce foUer tudder. Him seem to nebber get 
home. His eyes am red as sundown. And his head, 
Oh, de achin head ! it seems so big as a pumpkin bustin 
for de seeds to come out ob it. See him comin all 
dizzy and faintin to do cabin door. He am so tired he 
wish to die and not libe, and go home to heaben. Den 
he smell de good meat dat massa gib him, cause he 
work so hard, and him begin to feel better. And 
when he haf eat all de good meat and drinked all de 
good coffee wid de sugar in it, den he bless God for all 
dese good tings, bless God he hab so good a massa, 
bless God for de children, and he lie down to sleep. Oh, 
how sweet be de sleep ! how soft be de bed, it seem 
like de bed ob roses ! 

" And now he dream of heaben. De angels seem 
waitin to carry him home as da did poor Lazarus. 
And da sing so sweet de music of de upper world, 
make him soul feel so good as if all de crickets and 
grasshoppers am shoutin praise to de Lord. O my 
bredren, dar be rest in heaben ! No more mus ye hurry 
to de field and hoe, hoe, hoe, de long, long day, till your 
back ache wid pain, and your head feel sick to die. No 
more mus ye be startled up as by a tunder-clap from 



NEGRO PREACHING. 187 

your sweet slumbers when ye git home to heaben. No 
more will massa tell you ye no work enough. No 
more mus ye run, run, run, on your weary legs, till ye 
be almost dead when ye taught it was time to stop, 
and all de work was done. In heaben de work be all 
done, and dar de weary be at rest. Yes, bredren, dar 
be rest in heaben. Dar be rest for de brodder, and dar 
be rest for de sister. Dat sister dat died so happy last 
Sunday, she rest in heaben. She was so happy to 
tink she was goin home. She saw de angels a waitin, 
and she saw little Nelly, way ober de ribber, on tud- 
der side ob Jordon. She knew it was Nell, cause 
Nelly looked so glad when mudder was comin. She 
danced and clapped her little hands, as she used to do 
when mudder comes home. And she see de gates ob 
pearl, and de walls of jasper stone, clear as crystal. 
And ober de gate was de watchman, wid a harp and a 
crown in his hand. And he cried with a loud voice, 
* Blessed be de dead dat die in de Lord — come up 
hither, come up hither ! ' Den Peggy shouted and 
clapped her hands for joy. But she was sorry to leave 
behind her de little girl, Dolly. ' O Jake,' said she to 
me, ' try and take care ob poor little Dolly. I is goin, 
and I can git no good tings for Dolly. Tell Dolly to 
say her prayers and remember her mudder. Oh ! de 
heavenly massa will take care ob Dolly; he be good 
massa, and will bress poor mudderless children.' Den 
she asked us to come round de bed and pray — and de 
room seemed lit up wid de angels. Den she said, 
' Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly ; de massa call me, 
de massa call me ! He be good massa ; he lub poor 
Peggy, and forgib all her sins. O Jake, I is goin 
home, I is goin home ! What shall I tell Jesus ? '" At 



188 NEGRO PREACHING. 

this moment, had I been a Congress reporter I should 
have been obliged to drop my pen. Not by the elo- 
quence of the mere words, for they are next to nothing, 
and not half reported here ; for it was impossible to 
catch them. But the solemnity of the occasion — the 
discourse suiting the audience, and the audience, by 
the bereavement, prepared for the discourse, and the 
preacher understanding both the subject and the occa- 
sion, and himself being a mourner in full sympathy 
with them and with the discourse, panting for the long- 
sought rest — it was only necessary to tap the slightest 
spring of affection, and floods of tears would gush 
forth, both from his own eyes and those of the congre- 
gation. And the loud responses of " Amen ! " and 
" Glory to God ! " even before he had arrived at the 
parting scene, had encouraged him to put forth every 
effort, for he knew he had touched the right string. 
Therefore, for the time being, he was apparently lost 
in his subject, cutting away from all forms, all order, 
floating on a billowy sea of excitement, yet secretly 
holding the rudder, that the passion might land at the 
right spot. In conversing with the dying, the image 
appeared before him, and as he bent over it, and as he 
spoke with it and received answers, his hearers were 
all agape, and bending over with him, drinking in his 
passion, anticipating his thoughts, and mouthing his 
words. And when he said, " I is goin, I is goin ! " 
with his brawny arms extended towards heaven, 
there seemed, in sympathy with the speaker, a general 
aspiration of the audience to spread the wing and 
mount upward. But, " What shall I tell Jesus?" was 
original to me. " Oh," cried the speaker, making mo- 
tions at the same time as if seizing a pen, " Oh, dat I 



NEGRO PREACHING. 189 

knew how to write! I would send an epistle to Jesus! 
* What shall I tell Jesus ? ' Tell him, said I, ive is all a 
comin I " And " glory ! " " glory I " " glory ! " sounded 
all over the house. 

He continued : " Dis rest be not only a rest from 
labor, but a rest from sorrow. De Rebelator say, God 
shall wipe away all tears from deir eyes, and dere shall 
be no more death, neither any sorrow. O my bredren, 
afflictions be de lot ob man ! Man dat is born ob 9, 
woman is ob few days and full ob trouble. He lie in 
his bed to-day, and he lie in his tomb to-morrow ; den 
de mourners go about de streets. De whole earth be 
full ob mourning. De death angel haf filled it wid 
grabes, and scattered it tick wid tombs, ticker dan de 
stars. And de stars, de eyes ob heaben, weep in dewy 
tear-drops ober de sacred dust. Da peep like nail-heads 
frew de pall dat shrouds de world, and de waning 
moon be de coffin's handle. And de winds moan in 
waUing sorrow. And de night is but de mantle for de 
dead. De clouds be de messengers ob mourning, and 
de tunder-sound de requiem. And old mudder Nature 
drops her leabes, and lay her bosom bare to de chills 
ob winter, when she tink ob her poor, dying children. 
Look down dar where so many were buried last fall. 
Oh, how de people did run to git away from de plague ! 
But de black wing .of de angel would chase dem eben 
to de woods, and dar da would die. But, bressed be 
God ! dar be no deff in heaben, neither sorrow. Dar 
dis heart hab beat de last achin pang, dar dis bosom 
hab heabed de last sigh, dar dis eye hab shed de last 
tear, and dar be no more partin wid kind friends. 

"X)e next figure ob heaben is home! Home ! Sweet, 
sweet home! dar be no place like home! When de 



190 NEGRO PREACHING. 

servant come home from de cotton field, or de turpen- 
tine woods, after bein gone a whole year, how sweet to 
see de houses and de cabins as he first come in town! 
How sweet be de faces as he come up to de depot ! 
How sweet be de boices as da say ' he's come ! he's 
come I ' Dar be de wife and de children waitin, and 
dar de massa lookin smilin cause his servant got home. 
And so in heaben dar our friends be a waitin. O 
Peggy ! dar I see de in de new white robe, standin at de 
depot ob immortality, wid palms in di hands, watin for 
us poor weepin mortals to come home. I see de in de 
dreams of de night. I hear di boice foller me in de 
day time ; I see di tears weepin in de cup where I 
drink ; I feel de wing ob di spirit brush my cheek 
when I pray ; O Peggy ! we is all a comin home ; tell 
Massa Jesus we is all a comin. Now, my bredren, ye 
may hab heaben in dis world. De kingdom of heaben 
comef not by obserbation, but it be widin you. De 
apostle Paul was once so happy dat he knew not 
whether he was in de body or out. And he was 
caught into Paradise, and was carried to de fird heaben, 
and dar he saw sights wonderful, and heard sounds un- 
speakable. So, my bredren, by faif may we be carried 
to de beatitude ob heaven. De Jews speak of free 
heabens. De first be whar de sky is, de second whar 
de stars is, and de fird whar God is. It require berry 
much faif to raise eben to de first heaben. We hab to 
mortify de flesh, tread down de appetite, trample upon 
de lust, bring low de anger, subdue all enby, and keep 
under de sensualities, and den we had not started — we 
hab only got ready. Den we begin to look de way we 
be goin, just as de eagle does when him look at de 
sun. Den as our faces be upward we forget de tings 



NEGRO PREACHING. 191 

below; we shut our eyes on de earf, and look on hea- 
ben. Yet we hab not got up any. But now de world 
seem lighter on de breast, and de heart beat more easy. 
And now cause we be so light, it seem dat if we could 
get up a little, whar de grabitation ob de world was 
not so strong, we could fly. Den it is dat we pant like 
de little bird in de nest, when him see his mudder go 
upAvard. And what be dat pantin ? It be de Spirit 
ob God inditin our petitions. And de Spirit now in- 
tercedef wid groanings dat cannot be uttered. Now 
we shut our eyes and trust God for de rest. And de 
moment we let go ob de world, and walk by faif and 
not by sight, dough at first it seem dark, and we trem- 
ble as we feel round for help, yet dat moment de light 
come into de soul. We tremble like de ship anchored 
in de dark when we first pull on de cable ; den see 
de light dance on de crest ob de wabe. Dis cable be 
faif, when it pull us up to de windard, towards de an- 
chor ob hope. We tremble as dof de balloon when it 
rise a little, den sink, den rise, den find it be tied down 
But when we no care whidder we go if we only go 
upward, we cut loose from de houses, de cabins, and de 
friendship ob earth, and feelin dem all sinkin beneaf 
our feet, we know not whedder we be in de body or 
out; de heart stop him's beatin, de brain stop him's 
tinkin, and de sight be gone, all gone but de feelin ; den 
we feel de breaf ob earth strike de cheek as it pass by; 
den we be abobe de trees and de mountains, abobe 
whar de bird sing in de sky, abobe de cloud, runnin, 
leapin, sailin, flyin, onward, upward! npivard! up- 
ward!! HIGHER!! HIGHER!! O Lordy God, I 
cant go no fudder ! " Reader ! do not laugh, but im- 
agine the state of the audience, at this time in a 



192 NEGRO PREACHING. 

paroxysm of ecstacy, all hanging breathlessly upon the 
speaker's lips, and all moved at his will ; by a word or a 
wink, seeming, with faces turned upward, to step as he 
stepped, and mount, hand over hand, as he mounted ; 
his feet moved as if on a treadmill, and his hands, swift 
as wings beating the air, indicated a rapid ascent, until 
above the birds, above the clouds he went, bearing his 
audience with him, onward! upward! higher! higher! 
till at last, exhausted by the flight, he can bring them 
down only by a thunder-clap. But few orators that 
ever lived could settle down an audience so suddenly, 
and but few assemblies could bear the transition. But 
to him and them, all occurred naturally ; and when he 
came to the climax of excitement, having said the last 
word and made the last exertion, with one hand point- 
ing as far towards heaven as he possibly could reach, 
he gave a leap upward with all his might and cried, 
" O Lordy God ! I cant go no fudder," faith seemed to 
step in where the mortal failed, and, catching the flag- 
ging wing of human passion, bore the soul-enraptured 
audience to the ecstatic regions of enchantment. I 
cannot follow this untutored son of Cyprian to his 
second and third heaven. Suffice it to say, that when 
we passed the second heaven — " whar de stars is " — 
we seemed to ride upon a cherub, and did fly, yea, we 
did, upon the wings of the wind. The stars were not 
pure in the sight of God, and here was the place of 
his judgment. And when we saw heaven opened, and 
the white horse, — for the chariots of God are twenty 
thousand, even thousands of angels, — and Him that 
sat thereon, whose eyes were a flame of fire, who was 
clothed with a vesture dipped in blood, and on whose 
thigh was written " King of kings and Lord of lords,^ 



NEGRO PREACHING. 193 

and when the stars of heaven fell unto the earth, 
even as a fig-tree casteth her untimely figs when 
shaken of a mighty wind, and the heaven departed as 
a scroll when it is rolled together, — it see>med as if the 
judgment day were at hand. I shall never forget that 
day's lesson on pulpit oratory. There were imperfec- 
tions in it, but these I could lay aside. Yet to this 
day I have never dared to preach from that text, lest I 
should mar the beauty of the impression I then received. 
17 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 



[ The following Sketches were written and published several years 
since.] 

PEAKS OF OTTER. 

Perhaps no American scenery is more interesting 
than the Peaks of Otter. Landscape has its beauty, 
Niagara its grandeur, Ocean its immensity ; but here, 
these are combined in the stupendous heights of sub- 
limity. There are summits more elevated, but none more 
picturesque and romantic. The tourist through Eastern 
Virginia becomes weary with the sameness of scenery. 
Plantations and woods, abandoned farms, barren wastes 
and stinted pines, with little elevation and less variety, 
make travel uninviting and fatiguing, were it not re- 
lieved by the unbounded hospitality of the planter. But 
here Nature has garnered her choicest stores of beauty 
to astonish the visitor with exquisite scenes of superb 
magnificence. No pencil can paint, no pen describe 
them. Words are insignificant, and the alphabet of 
language useless, in expressing the feelings of reverence 
and awe which they inspire. Nothing but the eye of 
the beholder, with his senses electrified by the soul- 
stirring rapture of the scene, can appreciate their tran- 
scendent merits. 

They are situated in the county of Bedford, about 

194 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 195 

twenty -five miles from Lynchburg, one hundred and 
fifty from Richmond, two hundred and thirty from 
Washington, two hundred and seventy from the Ocean, 
seventeen from the Natural Bridge, and from twenty to 
fifty miles from some of the most noted mineral springs. 
Their elevation above the level of the sea is five thou- 
sand three hundred feet, or little more than a mile. 
Their height above the plain is about four thousand two 
hundred. The Round Top is considered a trifle higher 
than the Sharp Top, or southern peak, but is less im- 
posing and less frequented. 

Since the wild savage from these heights has ceased 
to sound the war whoop for his assembled chiefs, com- 
paratively few persons have visited them until the past 
few years. Indeed, for want of roads, they have been 
almost inaccessible ; none but the more adventurous 
would attempt their ascent, yet Randolph, Jefferson, 
and Patrick Henry found the pleasure of watching the 
stars and the rising sun, and of gazing upon their re- 
spective plantations in the interminable plains below, 
to exceed the fatigue and exposure of the journey. 
When the rising sun burst its sea of glory upon the 
keen eye of John Randolph, and lighted up the mountain 
with burnished gold, he pointed his long bony finger 
("that javelin of rhetoric") towards the east, and ex- 
claimed to his companions : "/iere let the infidel he con- 
vinced in a Deity y He was the first man who appro- 
priated money for the construction of a road to the 
Peaks, and by others following his example the diffi- 
culty of ascent is now removed. As the facilities of 
travel have been increased, it has become popular for 
families of opulence and distinction, during the warm 
season, to take a travelling tour. That tour for Vir- 



196 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 



ginians and strangers visiting the State is almost 
invariably for the Peaks of Otter, and the scenery of 
that part of the country. To accommodate the public 
demands, a turnpike has been made, of proper grade 
and finish, to pass over the ridge, from the Railroad 
Depot at Liberty, to Buchanan, a distance of twenty 
miles, on the route to some of the most noted Springs. 
As this road leads between the Peaks, and within one 
mile from their tops, the amount of travel is immense. 
The visitor can ride the remaining mile if he shall 
choose, but many prefer to walk. The ascent is less 
difficult than that of the White Mountains of New 
Hampshire, and the sight more grand. There, no ac- 
commodations for the traveller are to be had within 
several miles of the highest peak, and the journey, for 
ladies, over mgged, steep, and wild declivities, is almost 
intolerable. Here, assistance, food, and shelter are at 
command, within sound of the voice. There, the mul- 
titudes of peaks, surrounding the point of the highest 
elevation, detract from the sublimity of the scene. 
Here, from the broad plain four thousand feet below, 
one isolated shaft towers above the clouds in lone 
grandeur, inviting the lightning and the thunder with 
a sublimity that defies competition. There, the sum- 
mit of the highest mountain being almost flat, covered 
with nothing but small rock, seems robbed of its crown 
of glory, as if the storms of heaven had hurled the 
beetling crags from its brow, being fearful of rebellion. 
Here, on the very summit, vast piles of toppling, bleak, 
gray granite, in high, irregular, wild sublimity breasting 
the storm, present the climax of all that humanity 
can experience. 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 197 



WASHINGTON MONUMENT. 



The stone for the Washington Monument was taken 
from this mountain ; its history may be interesting. 
About thirty years since an egg-shaped rock, twenty- 
five or thirty feet high, stood on this mount, with the 
small point toppling over the vast abyss, so exactly 
poised that one hand would move it. Nothing in 
nature could be more sublime, and no point of eleva- 
tion more exciting for youth. Since the name of 
Washington has been found engraved on many inter- 
esting rocks of the country, it is common to find moun- 
tain heights covered with names. Upon these crags 
names from all parts of the world are found engraved 
upon the precipitous brink, vieing with each other for 
immortality. Upon the most distant point of the high 
rock spoken of, an ambitious youth once ventured to 
mark his name, and another climbed out upon the 
point with a silver-headed cane, and laying it upon the 
utmost verge, placed a stone upon it — a temptation for 
some adventurous youth to climb and break his neck. 
The cane was taken down shortly after with difficulty 
and hazard, but without accident. The time arrives 
when this rock must be hurled from its base, and no 
more excite the wonder and admiration of the world. 
Nature seemed to write upon it, " hands off," but 
mischievous youths are forever meddling, envious of 
Nature's perfections. In vain did the pious Christian 
cry against their sacrilegous deeds I how infamous ! 
how blasphemous I But all was vain. A hundred sons 
are gathered on the mount, a barbacue prepared, and 
cheerful songs are heard that make the mountain ring. 
A lever is laced beneath, moved by scores of men, yet 
17* 



198 SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 

they can only make it " wink," so tremendous is its 
weight. A hole is now drilled directly under it, a foot 
deep and six inches in diameter, to be filled with pow- 
der. Rather a small gun to discharge so large a ball ! 
Several pounds of powder are put in, and the wadding 
forced upon it, and an iron plough-mould is placed 
over and wedged down from the rock. Ready I run ! 
run ! Every man has chosen his position, that he may 
see and hear, and save his head. Buzzard's Rock at a 
short distance is covered with peering faces, anxious 
and breathless. Lo, a smoke! hark I flash! bang! 
Away went — nothing but the plough-mould. Another 
charge and another fire, but with the same effect. 
Charge succeeds to charge, and fire to fire, until kegs 
of powder are wasted and all the plough-irons are shot 
away. Wedges are now resorted to and driven be- 
tween two inclined planes. Now, stroke on stroke, 
it stirs and heaves amain ! once more I it 's o'er ! With 
sulphur smoke, and sound of earthquake, as the crash- 
ing of a thousand hills, it whirls and leaps from crag 
to crag, crushing rocks and mounds and tall majestic 
oaks, now ploughing a deep gutter like ocean's wave, 
sending turf and stones and parted trees to the skies, 
now rolling end over end, with the voice of thunder, 
till lastly it buries itself in a hill one mile below, and 
remains like the wounded savage covering his face to 
die. Great were the bruises of its fall. One year 
since. Patriotism came, like the good Samaritan, — she 
came like the Samaritan, but there the likeness ends, 
for instead of healing the wounds that Nature had com- 
passionately bound up with moss for thirty years, she 
blew the rock in a thousand pieces. The fragments 
still remain over the ridge, opposite the " big spring," 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 199 

on the road to the Peaks. The part intended for the 
monument was finished at Lynchburg, then taken to 
Washington. The following is its inscription : 

"From Otter's summit, 
Virginia's loftiest peak, 
To crown a monument 
To Virginia's noblest son." 

Most agreeable associations stir one's soul while 
standing in the Washington Monument. The character 
of the lettering, the laconic phrase, the various devices 
of sculpture, and the different species of rock coming 
from all parts of this vast Union, from the hills of 
every State and from every society, religious, literary, 
philanthropic and political, all uniting in the same 
sentiment of holy patriotism, — fill the imagination with 
the sweetest reveries. The history of the past looms 
before the mind. Images of venerable heroes and 
statesmen, with ancient garb and noble bearing, seem 
shadowed before in sweet communion. The towering 
pile looks on Mount Vernon; but all save the Potomac, 
how changed ! Where are the gardens, the fruits, the 
flowers ? Lo, the wild shrubbery, the thorn, and the 
brier I The buildings, how changed I Behold the mould 
of age and the drapery of mourning, as piece by piece 
they yield to corroding time. How solemn the tolling 
bell of the mail boat, as it speaks of the departed ! 
Even the tomb hath yielded its sacred treasure, and 
the body lies in a more secluded spot. But his fame 
will not perish, and this monument is worthy of the 
man. The inscriptions upon the various gifts of the 
States, and of Europe, will be read with increasing in- 
terest when the present generation is asleep. No stone 



200 SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 

will attract more attention than this from the Peaks 
of Otter. Virginia nurtured America's noblest son, 
and now glories in presenting a tribute to his memory 
from one of America's sublimest peaks. 

ROUTE TO OTTER PEAKS. 

We commence at Lynchburg. This city, like 
Whitehall of New York, at the head of Lake Cham- 
plain, is built upon the side of a steep hill, and, like that 
place, is a great business thoroughfare. It is, next to 
New Bedford, Massachusetts, the most wealthy city in 
the Union according to its population. In arousing 
the spirit of Virginia internal improvement, and rolling 
the car of business enterprise, Lynchburg stands first 
and foremost. The business stir of the tobacco fac- 
tories, foundries, banks, and stores, present the go-a- 
headativeness of Yankeedom. Hotels and boarding- 
houses are full to overflowing, and to find admission 
costs the prayers and expense of an entrance to Ma- 
homet's paradise. There are three routes leading from 
this place to the celebrated springs in the west of the 
State ; — one up James River, by canal ; another by rail- 
road to Salem ; but the most direct route is by a new 
turnpike over the mountains, from Liberty to Bucanan. 
We leave the cars at Liberty, twenty-five miles from 
Lynchburg, and ten or twelve miles from the Peaks. 
Here we find stages, carriages, buggies, and riding 
horses, to suit every person's taste for travel. Those 
desiring to continue from the Peaks to the Springs, 
generally prefer public conveyance ; but the parties vis- 
iting only the mountains choose the more social and 
chivalrous pleasure of horsemanship. Tremendous is 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 201 

the excitement ! The wild, prancing steed catches the 
wilder spirit of his rider, and paws for the race. 
Now the mighty forest echoes with the multitudinous 
bound of iron hoofs. Vociferous shouts of laughter 
drive the partridge and the pheasant from their old 
possessions, and the sylvan songster flies with notes 
half spent in air, and half down his throat, frightened 
half to death. Dogs from the distant cabins rouse 
from their slumbers, bark, howl, run over fences and 
hedges to join the chase, and yelp in the tangled briar 
with mad despair. On, on, rush the fiery coursers 
with the speed of thought. The mountain heaves in 
sight, but only to cheat the senses, for perspective hath 
lost its rules of distance. We seem within a short 
walk of the mountain top ; we inquire and find it ten 
miles. The fact is, the mountain being exceedingly 
grand, beyond our common experience, we cannot 
judge of its distance, but the delightful road amidst 
towering forests and beautiful plantations compensates 
for the length of the journey. How different the path 
to the White Mountains, frequented by so many 
thousands ! The nearest house to Mount Washington 
is as far as Liberty from the Peaks of Otter, and the 
horrid ride over crags and wrenching defiles is al- 
most beyond endurance. Many are obliged to return 
without visiting the mountains, after coming several 
hundred miles for that purpose ; and for ladies to 
endure the fatigue is next to impossible. What are 
the pleasures of Nature's scenery without the society 
of woman? — what our conceptions of pleasing, the 
lovely, the beautiful? Beneath her gentle footsteps 
fiowers spring in our path ; at her radiant smiles the 
wild rose develoos its choicest tints, and sheds its 



202 SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 

selected odors ; at the sound of her voice Nature strings 
her silver harp sweetly as sounds the dulcimer; the 
bands of the Pleiades are forged by the glance of 
her eye ; and at the low, gentle sigh from her bosom, 
who does not feel the heart quake ? Hold I perhaps 
the indulgent reader is an old bachelor contemplating 
the glories of single blessedness. Away I away I we 
haste for the Peaks, by Nichol's plantation, over Otter 
Creek, by the mill at Fancy Farm, and up the long 
ascent. What forest trees I Here stand the oaks of 
centuries in sublime majesty, reminding us of the for- 
ests of Oregon, and here in the cultivated field they 
stand, withered, girdled, and dead; their tall, gray 
branches towering to the skies, inviting the lightning 
and the storm, still set fate at defiance, like Bonaparte 
in exile. Here in the thicket they have fallen by age, 
and by their own weight, giving way for their suc- 
cessors, like the generations of men. Now the " big 
spring " pours its warbling tide over our path. Never 
was water more refereshing — cold as the ice of winter, 
pure as the fount of Castalia, and sweet as the nectar 
of Jupiter. Weary and exhausted by the tedious ride, 
we wipe the sweat from the brow, and gaze with rap- 
ture upon the glittering tide. With scooping palm we 
drink, and lave the brow; exhausted Nature rallies, new 
life and vigor throbs through every vein, and with ad- 
venturous spirit we aspire for the Peak. In less than 
half a mile from the spring we come to the celebrated 
^^ Otter Peak's House^'^ kept by Mr. Leyburn Wilkes. 
Better accommodations, more prompt and ready ser- 
vice, amid more delightful scenery, could not be desired. 
Mr. Wilkes is a young man, kind and affable, whose 
chief delight is to make the visitors cheerful and happy. 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 203 

He owns both of these mountains, which in time must 
prove a source of incalculable wealth. His buildings 
multiply with the increase of travel, and no labor or 
expense will be spared to make this the most attractive 
watering place in America. The air is cool and salu- 
brious, and in the hottest season an exhilarating breeze 
sweeps through the mountain pass, while the low lands 
of the State are parched, sultry, and infected. 

THE ASCENT. 

To horse ! to horse ! Now for the heights. They 
appear close by, but are a full mile in distance, three- 
quarters of which we can ride ; then we must foot it. 
Such rambling, scrambling, joking, such extreme pleas- 
ure in assisting the ladies, such a glow of feeling to 
have one's strong arm pressed by the fainting fair, as 
weariness makes her more lovely, the cheek of a 
brighter tinge, the eye more languidly attractive, as our 
feelings are made reciprocal by the genius of the spot! 

Now we climb the topmost crags. What trembling, 
shrinking, misgiving, as a world appears below I An 
experienced one climbing the ladder, and clinging des- 
perately to the rock, exclaims : " Is it safe ? wont the 
mountain fall ? " Reader ! we can describe no further. 
Think of describing heaven I Think, with the pen of 
poor, degraded mortal, to describe the ethereal essence 
of angels, floating in the imperial sky ! Think to de- 
scribe the holy rapture of pure intelligences before the 
throne of Omnipotence! — and as soon think to describe 
the complication of feeling, of pleasure and pain, of 
ecstacy and fear, of reverence and awe, excited by these 
scenes! We can only say that the clouds are beneath 



204 SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 

your feet, and anon they rise and crown your brow, 
and your fingers sport with their golden borders. Now 
they are gone, casting their black shadows over ten 
thousand acres a mile beneath your feet, and hurrying 
away as if impelled by your command. Half way 
down, the raven spreads his broad wing, and appears 
less than the smallest fly ; the bald-headed eagle, whose 
gray brow hath been whitened by the upper lights of 
heaven, still sails beneath. The largest trees have 
diminished to the smallest shrubs. You stand upon 
the cold, rugged granite, unchanging and unchangeable 
as eternity, and severe as the justice of Jehovah. 

To the north-east is Flat Peak, from which a wild 
''halloo''' is heard from another party, to which reply is 
given ; but their diminutive forms are invisible. Down 
the vale to the north is seen the house of " mine host,'' 
presenting a delightful appearance, and the small specks 
hurrying along the road prove to be another young com- 
pany, with the same exuberant spirits, sporting and 
frolicking like the first. Lynchburg is seen far to the 
east. The original founder of this city was a gen- 
tleman by the name of Lynch, whose brother. Col. 
Charles Lynch, an officer in the American Revolution, 
was the author of the celebrated ''Lynch" law I At 
that time the country was thinly settled, and infested 
with a lawless set of tories and desperadoes. The ne- 
cessity of the case demanded desperate measures, and 
Col. Lynch apprehended and punished them without 
judge or jury. These measures were a subject of 
much litigation after the war, which presented their 
author more conspicuously before the public. The 
supremacy of the Lynch law in the West, and in Cali- 
fornia has charged the pen of John Bull with many 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 205 

" palpable hits " upon American government. New 
London, rendered memorable by the eloquence of Pat- 
rick Henry, is seen nearer the peaks than Lynchburg, 
and beyond the beautiful village of Liberty. Fincas- 
tle and Amsterdam are seen on the opposite side of 
the mountain, and the new turnpike lining the ridge 
towards Buchanan presents a romantic route for travel. 
North and south the Blue Ridge and Alleghanies run 
off in extended ridges, now in direct lines, now broken 
by notches and gaps and knolls, now thrusting a lone 
peak in towering magnificence to the skies. Among 
these, the Apple Orchard is of high elevation, and its 
" falling waters " a matter of some interest, while the 
Jump, the North, and the House Mountains, near Lex- 
ington, and the Short Hills in the fertile valley, the " gar- 
den of Virginia," with the horizon bounded by the long 
extended Alleghanies, present the wildest grandeur. 
Mountain billows ! Here we behold immensity ! He 
who has battled with the storms of ocean, and felt his 
laboring bark, league by league, ascend the mountain 
wave, until arriving at the crested top, he gazes upon 
a hundred sails beneath, some mounting the wave in 
full view, some sinking half hid beneath the surge, and 
some deep in the engulfing trough, with only their ban- 
ners seen struggling with overhanging billows ex- 
tending for miles above — he, and he only, can fully 
appreciate the sublimity of these interminable moun- 
tain billows! As the weather-beaten seamen stand 
upon these heights they seem to roll in boiling waves 
beneath his feet. He gazes upon the clouds beneath, 
sees the image of hope beckoning him on, and in- 
stantly thrusts forth the hand to grasp the halliards, to 
mount the yard-arm and seize the helm and bring his 
18 



206 SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 

vessel to her course, as flashes his keen piercing eye 
that has faced the thunderbolts of many a storm, and 
throbs his heart with the passion and unbridled excite- 
ment of his youth ! With what rapture he gazes ! 
What delightful associations of his youthful adven- 
tures rise upon hi's vision ! How his spirit bounds 
once more for the excitement of the sea! Imagining 
these to be the transfixed billows of ocean is no fiction. 
No mountains or valleys in the Union present more 
marine deposits of shells and marl, and fossil remains 
of greater number and variety, and no physical features 
bear stronger impress of marine convulsions. Moun- 
tains from the depths of the sea, parting the briny 
waters, with all their shell and submarine remains, up- 
heaving, have towered to the very skies with glittering 
crowns of pearl, while the gathered waters, frightened 
at confinement, ploughing enormous chasms, have brok- 
en through the mountain barrier, bearing down every 
obstacle, and, through wide, deep channels, have hurried 
to the freedom of their native sea. The rising of the 
mountains and the rolling back of the waters have 
deposited the various strata of Virginia, — the secondary 
and carboniferous formations, — to great advantage for 
the convenience of man. Beds of coal, iron, marl, 
gypsum, limestone, with the precious metals, lie within 
a few feet of the earth's surface, richer than California, 
with no enterprising hand to' disturb them. Lands 
barren, exhausted by the impoverishing tobacco colter, 
— worse than Irish rents, — until not a leaf of vegeta- 
tion remains, must suffer in sight of these fertilizers 
with the hankerings of a Tantalus in Erebus. These 
deposits must have been the accumulation of many 
mighty rivers, borne here by the tide of ocean, and 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 207 

transformed, in the course of time, to coal, gypsum, 
limestone, and the like. Could any mortal discover 
where the wash of the great Mississippi, the James, 
and the Potomac is borne, he might perhaps predict 
the place of a future island or continent, to rise by 
some submarine convulsion. 

SUNRISE. 

At half-past three o'clock the servant called me. He 
informed me that clouds had filled the sky for the last 
hour, that there would be little prospect of seeing the 
sun rise ; nevertheless, alone and without a lantern I 
proceeded. Being unarmed and unaccustomed to the 
woods, at sight of old logs the thought of bears, 
wolves, panthers, and rattlesnakes produced a slight 
sensation, but reason soon dispelled all apprehension of 
danger. It was in May. Nature, though shrouded in 
darkness, was not still. The music of the insects, the 
croaking of the frog, the sound of the turtle, the war- 
bling of the rivulet, the chirping of the sparrow, and the 
last dying notes of the whippoorwill, filled the air with 
solemn melody. They seemed conscious that the mists 
were without rain. Directly over the Peaks the clouds 
parted, as if drawing the veil from the " holy of holies," 
for the early worship of his mountain majesty; and far 
up, unveiled beneath the star^, the towering heights 
appeared in bold, stupendous magnificence. If ever 
the spirit of devotion fluttered in this conscious bosom, 
it was then. Mountain scenery is always inspiring; 
upon a mountain the Saviour of the world spent the 
night in prayer; on a mountain he preached his ser- 
mon, unparalleled in language ; and darkness and clouds 



208 SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 

circling these heights add a spirituality so ennobling, one 
imagines himself worshipping upon the " Mountain of 
the Lord's House." I ascended the heights, reclined 
upon a rock facing the east, and was struck silent 
and breathless. Clouds gathered overhead, but a pale 
streak in the east discovered a clear sky. The streak 
by degrees expands and grows paler, and a tint of gam- 
boge lines the lower border, which is tinged with ver- 
milion. The blending of white and yellow, bordered 
below with fiery red, now fills a wide expanse in the ori- 
ent sky. Purple clouds fringed with golden hues of radi- 
ant tapestry fast roll back the shades of night, and far 
off on the horizon, as the resplendent curtain rises, 
winged heralds of light shoot right and left, an- 
nouncing the approach of the refulgent king of day, 
but no sun is yet visible. Think me not too credulous 
in believing there are spirits in those rays darting to 
earth, in answer to the prayer of some poor, broken- 
hearted wife or mother, who has spent the long hours 
of night by fasting in some low, back under-world of 
woe, unseen by the slumbering eye of mortal, and 
watching for the tardy footsteps of an estranged hus- 
band or of an erring son. In her lone hut, neglected, 
forsaken, forgotten by the friends of her better fortune, — 
in the midst of poverty, disease, and exposure, — as the 
low, deep sigh from the full depths of her dying heart 
bears the gentle voice of prayer, — think not that, be- 
neath such glorious light as this, a merciful Redeemer 
forgets the cries of the afflicted. Now the radiance 
of the east becomes inexpressible, and the dark, misty 
clouds overhead are pierced and dispersed by ten thou- 
sand rays. A small mountain lies upon the horizon, 
shielding the sun until its proper time to rise with the 



SKETCHES OP VIRGINIA. 209 

greatest effect, and a small black cloud floats before. 
A more beautiful impression cannot be conceived. 
The cloud nearly hides the ring of the sun, circling 
the mountain until the sun is so far risen that all its 
treasured beams at once burst with an electric thrill 
upon the enraptured sight, and astonishes glory itself. 
Behold a sea of burnished gold I a contrast and union 
of ten thousand hues ! a hundred miles of landscape, 
crowned with emerald, sapphire, and rubies ! the moun- 
tain crags at your side a pile of refulgent diamonds I 
But why attempt a description ? A spirit cries, " Hold, 
daring mortal I think not to grasp divinity! these glories 
are indescribable ! they can be known only by direct 
transports to the soul through the spirit of the Deity.'* 
Perhaps few persons have ever been favored with so 
grand a sight. I might visit the same place, when the 
sun is in the same latitude, a thousand times, and fail to 
meet with the concurrence of circumstances, the pecu- 
liar clouds, the temperature of the atmosphere, the 
nature of the eastern sky, and the aspect of the hori- 
zon which overwhelmed me. He who has not paid his 
morning devotions upon these high altars, has not felt 
man's divinest nature. Far from the distracting cares 
of the habitations of men, here is Nature in her purity, 
speaking her own language. How delightful to stand 
and converse with her on these mountain peaks, to 
breathe the atmosphere of these higher regions, and 
gaze upon the depths below — to make companionship 
with sky, with clouds, and mountains, which become 
our brothers, sisters, friends I We seem a part of them, 
our existence becomes enlarged; the chain of desires 
that binds us to earth, link by link, is broken, and our 
conscious spirit aspires to be free. Such are the feel- 
18* 



210 SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 

ings impressed by these scenes. If there is a place on 
this lower world where spirits dwell, that place is here. 
Celestial voices answer each other's notes from crag to 
crag, with soft, low, dulcet strains borne upon the 
gentle breeze, which take full possession of the soul. 
Nature has never sinned. Remaining in her pristine 
purity, with floral cheek, and breath all incense, here 
she smiles with sweetest expression, and woos us to 
her embrace. He who loves Nature loves God. 

MOONLIGHT. 

Sweet is the converse of Nature upon the mountain 
top in the silent watches of the night. The air, the earth, 
the heavens, how still I A holy feeling pervades the 
place; the rock, the clouds, and the stars, all seem a 
part of ourselves — each a link in Nature's chain to bind 
us to the Deity. A moonlight view from the Peaks 
of Otter, as a field for fancy or imagination, surpasses 
our highest anticipations. The world so far receded 
from view, the heavens so near and so brightly paved 
with stars, the clouds passing by as sentinels over a 
slumbering world, the comets or falling stars, heaven's 
telegraphic messengers, bearing dispatches for weal or 
woe, and the silver moon — queen of night — walking in 
silent majesty among the beacon lights of heaven, gaz- 
ing upon a slumbering universe, lighting up the moun- 
tains and hills below, just enough to make their shad- 
owy features visible, — all present a boundless field for 
the wildest flights of imagination. Well might John 
Randolph, Nature's " acting poet," delight to spend the 
night in contemplating these scenes, and from his 
favorite author exclaim: "The heavens declare the 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 211 

glory of God, and the firmament showeth his handy 
work. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto 
night showeth knowledge. He hath set a tabernacle 
for the sun, which is as a bridegroom coming out of 
his chamber. When I consider the heavens, the work 
of thy hand, the moon and stars the work of thy 
fingers, what is man that thou art mindful of him, or 
the son of man that thou regardest him ? " 

THUNDER-STORM. 

The climate of Virginia is wonderfully cnangeable, 
and is regular in nothing but vicissitudes. One day 
the heat, beneath a scorching sun, without a breath of air, 
is killing even to " negroes," and the next day demands 
an overcoat. A morning may be clear, warm, and 
sultry ; the evening cold, wet, and chilling. Even in an 
hour, the clear, calm, blue sky, without a single visible 
speck floating upon heaven's blue sea, may be filled 
with a most terrific storm. Then to the heroic, the 
Peaks of Otter present a stupendous spectacle ; clouds 
gather round, he is shut out from communion with the 
lower world, and stands amid the white thunder-heads 
of ebon clouds, with lightning at his feet. A slight 
dash of rain passes over, like scouting parties before a 
sanguinary battle. Now prepare for the terrific I The 
forest roars, beasts howl, the raven flies in terror ; the 
sturdy shrub, deep-rooted on the mountain brow, is 
uptorn and hurled headlong, and stern, stately oaks, 
whose tall branches have defied the storms of centuries, 
now break and fall like pipe stems ! The Fiend of 
Storm seems enraged that a mortal dare approach his 
seat. Lightning leaps from cloud to cloud, marshal- 



212 SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 

ling up his hosts of artillery with icy shots of death! 
Mad thunder, from his ebon chariot, with sulphurous 
breath and fiery eye, strikes upon his granite throne 
with horrid shock, as if a huge mount of adamant from 
heaven had crushed the flinty brow of earth — and ten- 
fold more dreadful pours the rain and hail. Now a calm 
— and what a calm ! Perfect silence reigns ; blue peaks 
burst through their misty shrouds, and in dewy tear- 
drop smile beneath the sun-beams, sweetly as a sisters 
face lit up with rays of hope. All below is a dark, un- 
fathomable abyss ; but above and around our brow the 
transparent vapors glitter with refulgent hues ; a re- 
splendent rainbow extends its broad arch from peak to 
peak, forming an intermediate vault between heaven 
and earth for the abode of angels. The high-soaring 
eagle, with his eye on the sun, darts above the mists, 
now tipping his spacious wing in the crystal drops of 
the iris, now sailing far beyond the clouds to adjust 
his plumes in the pure radiance of heaven. As swells 
the gentle breeze. Nature strikes her sylvan lyre from 
pine and fir in ^olian symphony, and merry songsters 
redouble their notes with rapturous delight. So pure, 
so peaceful the heavens and earth, so exhilarating the air, 
so melodious the warblers, and so redolent the flowers, 
one imagines earth without a»sigh, without a tomb. 

STANZAS. 

" Stand ! thou whose cloud-capped summit's towering crest 
Lone, silent stood when earth in swaddling vest 
"Was young. High o'er thy dial's changeless face 
Age after age hath rolled, nor left a trace 
Of circling centuries, nor mark, nor line, 
To note the ravage of corroding time. 
Stand ! gray but not with years. Heaven's thunder shock. 



SKETCHES OP VIRGINIA. 213 

Storm, winter, time, nor change thy primal rock. 

Stand ! crowned, but not by mortal. Heaven's first gem, 

Of Autumn's snow thy crystal diadem. 

Stand ! thou who 'st witnessed at thy changeless base, 

The rise and fall of each succeeding race. 

From ancient tribes with scarce a trace behind. 

To those more recent of the savage kind : 

And last, not least, thou saw'st a pilgrim band. 

First plant for earth's redemption on thy strand 

Those standard stars whose stripes are now unfurled, 

For patriot exiles' hope o'er half a world ; 

And thou unmoved shall see them final wave 

Triumphant o'er the world's last despot's grave. 

Eternal Peak ! When first Creation's Lord 

Said : " Let dry land appear," thou heard 'st the word, 

And from chaotic depths profound didst rise. 

Refulgent greeting Time's first dawning skies : 

Back rolled the waters from thy pristine brow. 

Thou rose majestic, stand'st majestic now. 

Celestial summit ! Be on earth a spot 

0*er heights, depths, ocean, mount, or grot, 

Where spirits disembodied deign to mix with clay, 

And breathe immortal essence such as cannot rot, 

Nor change with changing Time's decay, 

'Tis here. Celestials here above the clog of earth. 

May dwell as children round their natal hearth. 

Seat of Omnipotence ! Whose fiats hurled 

From thy high throne, now build, now crash a world. 

Unchanging pile ! The same from year to year. 

Cold, calm reserve in icy halls of snow. 

Unmoved by petty passions, rage, or fear. 

Such as disturb us warring worms below, 

Thou 'rt lovely in thy greatness as severe. 

Heaven's Throne ! I came with pencil to portray 

Thy grandeur, but as lonely I survey 

These heights and depths, awe-struck I bow before, 

I bow in nothingness and must adore." 

INHABITANTS. 

At first view, the Blue Ridge appears uninhabited; 
but upon close inspection, even upon the summits. 



214 SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 

Vv"e shall discover the habitations of men. Finding a 
narrow and almost unfrequented footpath, we wander 
through the tangled thicket until, imagining ourselves 
lost and beyond human society, we are suddenly ap- 
prised of our mistake by the unmerciful bite of a sav- 
age dog ; while the little curs circle around with 
hideous yells that make the forest ring. Whereupon 
the good people of the cabin came to our assistance, 
and with our hand upon the wound, striving to cover 
the enormous gap in our unmentionables, we con- 
gratulated them upon the fidelity of their guard. They, 
however, show us a more hospitable welcome than the 
dogs, and incommode themselves very much for the 
entertainment of the stranger. On entering the dwel- 
ling, we find it not so spacious as the Astor House, 
or roomy as Willard's ; nevertheless, it suits the scenery, 
and were it situated in Brighton, might avoid the tax 
of lights, by the luminous cavities between the logs. 
As to the superfluities of separate reading-rooms, draw- 
ing-rooms, parlors, dining-rooms, bed-rooms, and dress- 
ing rooms, nothing of the sort prevails, and one room 
answers all purposes. Do not smile. Among crowds 
that may gather in these mountain dwellings, more 
purity and virtue may be found than in fashionable 
rooms separated by strong partitions. The gun is 
the first article of furniture, and hangs in a conspicuous 
place, while the un plastered ceiling is hung with ever- 
greens, more beautiful than can be obtained in the 
Astor House. Here is health. A more hardy, stal- 
wart race is not often found. This may be discovered 
by the multiplicity of hearty children thrusting their 
ruddy faces at a stranger, half pleased, half alarmed. 
In counting, we often find they exceed the baker's 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 215 

dozen, while the venerable matron gazes through her 
spectacles, with much complacency, upon Heaven's 
last precious gift nestling in her arms. The number 
of males seems to preponderate, but a more thorough 
investigation might change our opinion. The full- 
faced, plump-looking daughters of these regions are 
little acquainted with the diseases of wasp-waisted, 
fashionable life. In education, the plus and minus of 
algebra, and the amo amas of Latin have never dis- 
turbed their dreams ; but they are plus good health, 
minus hypocrisy, and, as to the amo, let a worthy 
mountaineer offer his hand, — he will find its expression 
stronger than in Latin. Could the sons be possessed 
of a reading spirit, these mountains in original intel- 
lectual powers might turn out giant men. Unfortu- 
nately, there is a weight on Virginia's political econ- 
omy somewhere, that presses like a mighty mill-stone 
upon her intellectual and physical developments. 

RAIL ROAD. 

It has been but recently that a railroad has traversed 
this country. It has been a subject of many evil prog- 
nostications from the darkies and backwoodsmen, and 
the shy wolf, still retaining her principles of conserva- 
tism, has never been known to cross the iron track. 
A new comer in Lynchburg saw, for the first time in 
his eventful mountain life, the puffing, smoking, black 
Ingine ! It was not a savage — yet how much like one ! 
His hand unconsciously started for a knife or gun. 
As it passed, he was told he could overtake it; and 
Jonathan seeing it retreat, started in chase ; but as 
the monster entered the big black tunnel he ran as fast 



216 SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 

the other way ! The by-standers told him he had not 
caught the bear this time. " No," said he, " but I have 
run him in his hole ! " 

A* negro seeing the swift-coming, snorting, black en- 
gine, ran to get behind his master, and rolling the 
white of his eye with terrific horror, he seemed to 
shrink to half size ; but when the monster had passed, 
he commenced laughing and leaping with the wildest 
paroxysms of joy. " What is the matter?" cried the 
master. " O massa ! I be so glad dat de debil will git 
no more among de niggers ! " " Why not ? what do 
you mean ? " said the master, as if somewhat aston- 
ished. " O massa I didn't you see um ar Lynchbugs 
hob got him in de harness ? " 

PATRICK HENRY, AND JOHN RANDOLPH OF ROANOKE. 

About sixty miles south-east of the Peaks, is Char- 
lotte County, where sleep Virginia's greatest orators, 
John Randolph and Patrick Henry. On " Red Hill," 
of that county, in sight of the Peaks, lived and died 
Patrick Henry, who, Jefferson said, "was the greatest 
orator that ever lived," and to whom Mr. Randolph 
applied the words of sacred writ — one " who spake as 
never man spake." In the borders of a forest is his 
grave, surrounded by a slight railing, overhung with 
the stately elm and cherry, with locusts and majestic 
forest trees in short distance, and without a monu- 
ment. Nature seems to have taken charge of her 
own gifted orator. A small vine of thick, matted 
evergreen creeps over the grave ; the box stands at 
either end, and a dense thicket surrounds it, sighing to 
the breeze, inviting to its mournful solitude the plain- 



SKETCHES OP VIRGINIA. 217 

tive songsters, whose melancholy notes are heard on^y 
in the darkest grove. A rustic chair stands near, where 
the devout pilgrim to the shrine of genius may sit 
and gaze upon the grave, and upon the place where 
Henry used to sit in his armed chair, with the vessel of 
water by his side, musing for hours with the music 
of Nature and inspirations from heaven. Here, the pil- 
grim may ponder in reveries with the same Nature, 
until the passions of his soul become so enraptured, 
the vision of his imagination so sensitive, that the 
solemn person of the orator actually appears before 
him. He sees him rise before the assembled multi- 
tude, so plain in his exordium that it seems but house- 
hold talk, so careless in his manners, so simple in his 
whole bearing, that the bookworm or aristocrat may 
hesitate whether to call him fool or clown ; but this is 
only for a moment. So slight has been the attack, 
that the audience have been thrown off their guard, 
and their hearts are open to receive the charges of his 
overwhelming eloquence. His eye flashes, his finger 
strikes conviction, passion swells up from his soul, his 
whole countenance is inflamed ; his voice, now tuned 
to the tenderest notes of the sorrows of suffering inno- 
cence, now cutting with the severest sarcasm, and now 
sounding with vehement thunderbolts of vengeance 
and defiance, — all these we witness, until we think no 
more of the orator, but hang upon his lips in breath- 
less suspense, thinking as he thinks, feeling as he feels, 
on the important subject at stake. But few shrines of 
sacred genius in this lower sphere are more inspiring. 
Henry's library was small, but he needed no more, for 
he read on Nature's pages, upon the glassy stream, 
upon the towering m.ountain, and upon the human 
19 



218 SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 

countenance. The homestead is now occupied by 
John Henry, Esq., his son. 

Between the Peaks and Lynchburg is New London, 
made interesting by Henry's eloquence. The old 
court-house is yet standing, in which he delivered his 
celebrated speech upon the Johnny Hook beef case. 
Hook was a Scotchman, a man of wealth, and sus- 
pected of being unfriendly to the American cause. 
During the distress of the American army, consequent 
on the invasion of Cornwallis, the army commissioner 
had taken two of Hook's steers for the use of the 
troops. The act was not strictly legal, and on the 
establishment of peace. Hook brought an action of 
trespass against him. Mr. Henry appeared for the 
commissioner. As usual, he had complete control of 
the passions of the audience, and more especially of 
their merriment. At one time he excited their indigna- 
tion against Hook, and vengeance was visible in every 
countenance ; again, when he chose to relax, and ridi- 
cule him, the whole audience was in a roar of laughter. 
He painted the distress of the American army, exposed 
almost naked to the rigors of winter, and marking the 
frozen ground over which they marched with their un- 
shod feet ; where was the man, he said, who had an 
American heart, who would not have thrown open his 
fields, his barns, his cellars, the doors of his house, the 
portals of his breast, to have received with open arms 
the meanest soldier in that little band of famished 
patriots ? There he stands ; but whether the heart of 
an American beats in his bosom, you, gentlemen, are 
to judge. He carried the jury to the plains of York- 
town, the surrender of which followed shortly after the 
act complained of. He depicted the surrender in the 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 210 

most noble colors of his eloquence ; the audience saw- 
before their eyes the humiliation and dejection of the 
British as they marched out of their trenches ; they 
saw the triumph which lighted up every patriot's face, 
and heard the shouts of victory, and the cry of " Wash- 
ington and Liberty," as it rung and echoed through the 
American ranks, and w^as reverberated through the hills 
and shores of the neighboring river. " But hark I what 
notes of discord are these which disturb the general 
joy, and silence the acclamations of victory ? They 
are the notes of Joseph Hook, hoarsely bawling out 
through the American camp — ''''beef I beef I beefl^"* 
The whole audience was convulsed. The clerk of the 
court, unable to command himself, and unwdlling to 
commit any breach of decorum in his place, rushed 
out of the court-house and threw himself on the grass 
in the most violent paroxysm of laughter. The cause 
was decided almost by acclamation. The jury retired 
for form's sake, and instantly returned a verdict of ac- 
quittal. Hook escaped by precipitate flight; the old 
court-house is now dilapidated and used as a barn. 

JOHN RANDOLPH, O^ ROANOKE. 

John Randolph was descended, in the seventh gen- 
eration, from Pocahontas, the Indian princess. We 
speak of him in connection with the Peaks of Otter, 
because the hills of his Roanoke are in sight. He 
frequently visited them, and remained during the night, 
and any thing relative to him is a matter of interest. 
It has been affirmed that America has had no poets, 
but there is one exception ; though Randolph wrote no 
poetry, his speeches and his life were nothing else. 



220 SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 

Had he devoted his studious life to the construction of 
verse, — with his musical ear, his grasping imagination, 
excitable temperament, fine sensibilities, and inexhaust- 
ible store of wit, — modern times might have vied with 
antiquity for immortal renown; but he "rejoined the 
stars " without recording his numbers. His first speech 
was delivered on the same day, upon the same plat- 
form on which Henry delivered his last. Randolph 
was a candidate for Congress ; Henry for the State Sen- 
ate ; but they were opposed in politics. Henry mounted 
the hustings with the full measure of his fame, and 
though in his sixty-seventh year, his eloquence seemed 
like an avalanche threatening to overwhelm the boy of 
twenty-six. He carried every thing before him, when, 
waving his body right and left, the audience uncon- 
sciously waved with him. As he finished, he literally 
descended into the arms of the obstreperous throng, 
and was borne about in triumph. The cry was, " the 
sun is set in all his glory V While one was set- 
ting, another was rising, with perhaps equal brilliancy. 
But Randolph was so youthful and unprepossessing in 
appearance that the audience began to disperse, and 
an Irishman exclaimed : " Tut I tut I it wont do ; it's 
nothing but the bating of an old tin pan after hearing 
a fine church organ." This singular person's peculiar 
aspect, shrill, novel intonations, and his cutting sar- 
casm, soon calmed the tumultuous crowd, and inclined 
all to listen to the strange orator, while he replied at 
length to the sentiments of their old favorite. When 
he had concluded, loud huzzas rang through the welkin. 
This was a new event to Mr. Henry. He had not 
been accustomed to a rival, and little expected one in 
a beardless boy. He returned to the stage and com- 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 221 

menced a second address, in which he soared above 
his usual vehemence and majesty. Such is usually 
the fruits of emulation and rivalship. He frequently 
adverted to his youthful competitor with parental ten- 
derness, and complimented his rare talents with liberal 
profusion, and while regretting what he deprecated 
as the political errors of his youthful zeal, actually 
wrought himself and his audience into an enthusiasm 
of sympathy and benevolence that issued in an ocean 
of tears. The gesture, intonations, and pathos of Mr. 
Henry operated like an epidemic on the transported 
audience. The contagion was universal. An hysteri- 
cal frenzy pervaded the auditory to such a degree that 
they were, at the same moment, literally weeping and 
laughing.* 

In this contest, Henry was elected to the Senate of 
Virginia, but did not live to take his seat, and Randolph 
to Congress, in which body, at intervals, he served more 
than twenty-four years. Well did the people of Char- 
lotte obey the last injunction of Henry, in his speech 
above described : " Cherish him, he will make an inval- 
uable man." Such was Randolph's youthful appear- 
ance, that when he came to the Clerk's table at the 
House of Representatives, that gentleman could not 
refrain from inquiring his age : '■^Ask my coristituents, 
sir^^^ was the reply. Randolph died in May, 1843. 
His grave is in a dense forest, near the stream called 
" Roanoke," with no marble memorial ; but two tall 
pines hang their rude branches over the spot, and the 
wind mournfully sighs through their foliage. The 
aphorism, " A prophet is not without honor save in his 
own country," would not apply to Mr. Randolph. He 

*Wirt. 

19* 



222 SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 

was always an object of w*onder and admiration to the 
people of Charlotte. In retiring from public life, he 
said to them : " Twenty-eight years ago, you took me 
by the hand, when a beardless boy, and led me to the 
halls of Congress. The Clerk asked me if I was of 
lawful age ; I told him to ask you ; you said you had 
a faithful representative ; I said. No man ever had such 
constituents. You have supported me through evil re- 
port, and through good report. I have served you to 
the best of my ability, but fear I have been an unprofit- 
able servant, and, if justice were meted out to me, 
should be beaten with many stripes. People of Char- 
lotte! which of you is without sin?" — at the same time 
shaking his long, bony fingers with thrilling effect. 
" But I know I shall get a verdict of acquittal from 
my earthly tribunal. I see it. I read it in your coun- 
tenances. But it is time for me to retire, and prepare 
to stand before a higher tribunal, where a verdict of 
acquittal will be of infinitely more importance. Here 
is the trust you placed in my hands twenty-eight years 
ago!" — at the same time, suiting the action to the 
idea, leaning forward as if rolling a great weight to- 
wards them, and exclaiming: — ^^Take it back! take it 
back!'' 

Randolph had a great veneration for religion, and 
his strongest illustrations were taken from the Bible. 
Towards the latter part of his life he was accustomed 
io call his three hundred servants together and preach 
to them with surpassing eloquence. He was a being 
of impulse, and his eccentricities remind us of the say- 
ing of Cicero — " There is but a hair's breadth between 
a genius and a madman." He never spoke without 
commanding the most intense interest; at his first 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 223 

gesture or word, the house and galleries were hushed 
into silence and attention. His voice was shrill and 
pipe-like, and at perfect command. His tall person, 
firm eye, and peculiarly expressive fingers, with his 
command of language, in satire and invective, were, to 
an enemy, almost annihilating. His power of invec- 
tive, charged against Henry Clay, contributed perhaps 
more than any thing else to defeat him as a candidate 
for the Presidency. In a duel between them, Ran- 
dolph showed great magnanimity ; it was fought on 
the banks of the Potomac, when the sun was setting 
on the blue hills of his own Virginia. The evening 
before, he had felt more depressed in spirit, and more 
confiding to his friends than usual, and had stated that 
he could not make Clay's wife a widow ; that he would 
receive, without returning, the fire. " But," says he, 
" if I see the devil in Clay's eye, I may change my 
mind." He saw Clay, fearless and firm, but not vin- 
dictive. The first pistol of Mr. Randolph went off 
before the time. Mr. Clay exclaimed that it was 
purely an accident, and begged that the gentleman 
might be allowed to prepare again. The moment the 
word was given, Mr. Clay fired, but without effect ; 
and Mr. Randolph discharged his pistol in the air. 
When Mr. Clay saw that Randolph had thrown away 
his fire, with a gush of sensibility he approached Mr. 
R., and said, with overwhelming emotion, " I trust in 
God, my dear sir, you are untouched ; after what has 
occurred, I would not have harmed you for a thousand 
worlds." Randolph, afterwards, was a friend of Clay, 
and, had he lived, his voice might have elevated the 
noble Kentuckian to the place of his desert. The last 
meeting and parting of these gentlemen in Congress 



224 SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 

Hall, is said to have been most pathetic — it was but a 
few days previous to the death of Mr. Randolph. 

ANECDOTES OF MR. RANDOLPH. 

Mr. John H. Pleasants, of Richmond, a gentleman 
of some distinction, was greatly at variance with Mr. 
Randolph ; so much so, that the sidewalk was too nar- 
row for them to pass. As Mr. Randolph approached, 
Mr. Pleasants exclaimed, with emphasis, and with 
actions suiting the words, " / turn out of the path for 

nod rascal !^^ Says Mr. Randolph, "/ c?o," and 

bowing politely, passed over on the other side of the 
street. 

Mr. Randolph often was unsocial and laconic in a 
reply to a salutation. A gentleman meeting him on 
Pennsylvania Avenue, exclaimed, " Fine morning, Mr. 
Randolph." " That '5 verj/ obvious,^^ replied Mr. R., in 
a fine, shrill tone, passing on, regardless of his friend. 

When in one of his misanthropic moods, it was 
almost impossible to approach him. A gentleman 
from Philadelphia, of whom Randolph had recently 
purchased a large quantity of valuable books, met Mr. 
R. in Washington, and offered to introduce to him a 
particular friend. Says Randolph, " are you the man 
of whom I bought those books ? " The disconcerted 
gentleman replied in the affirmative. Says Mr. R., 
" do I owe you any thing ? " The astonished book- 
seller replied, " Oh, no, sir ! " " Well, then, good morn- 
ing, sir," rejoined Randolph. 

Mr. Randolph sometimes met with a caustic reply. 
On stopping at a tavern, as is natural, the landlord 
inquired whither he was travelling. Says Randolph, 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 225 

« Do I owe you any thing ? " " Oh, no, sir I" " Well, 
sir, I am going which way I am of a mind to." Shortly 
after leaving the tavern, he met a fork in the road, and 
sent his servant to the landlord to inquire which road 
would lead him to a certain place. Says the landlord, 
" Tell Mr. Randolph he don't owe me any thing ; he 
may take which road he has a mind to." 

Mr. Randolph was a great pedestrian. One of his 
admirers, endeavoring to overtake him on foot, finally, 
with much puffing and wheezing, and with almost his 
last breath, exclaimed, " Good morning, Mr. Randolph ; 
it is with great difficulty that I have overtaken you." 
" It may be with greater difficulty that you keep up 
with me," said Mr. R., stretching his long, lean shanks 
with unusual pace, leaving his astonished friend far in 
the rear. 

LAMENT FOR PATRICK HENRY. 

New London ! at thine ancient, sacred name, 
What visions rise ! what venerate shades of fame ! 
And thou, old Hall, where Henry strung the lyre 
Of eloquence with pure seraphic fire. 
That ravished souls in ecstacy of tears, 
And echoes still more hallowed by its years. 
Like sea-shell sounding of its far-off shore. 
Old court-house ! soon, ah soon, thou art no more ! 

Of late thy walls have fired the preacher's soul. 
To charm the listening crowds with rapt control, 
But now no saint, or patriot band remains. 
To shield them from dread winter's winds and rains 
Oh, tear them down ! nor let their weeping face 
Upbraid this poor, ingrate, degenerate race. 

Neglected Henkt ! tombless is thy sod, 

O thou whose voice first shook the tyrant's rod 



226 SKETCHES OP VIRGINIA. 

And roused up mighty millions for the fight, — 
A patriot pure as ever saw the light ! — 
Is this thy grave, without a name or stone 
To mark thee from the vilest ebon son ? 
Oh, blush, ye patriots ! as from door to door 
Ye beg for votes ; blush, blush, Virginia's shore ! 
Ye angels, weep, who heard his voice in heaven, 
Your dewy tears the only tribute given ! 

Grieved Nature ! this thy son 1 'Tis well he 's laid 
Deep buried 'neath thy forests* mournful shade ; 
By forest brooks his voice was tuned while young, 
By forest winds his magic harp was strung, 
By forest nymphs Avas schooled from genius' sky, 
Nor needed books, for all was taught from high. 

Nature receives her son. "With vestures rude. 
She hides a nation's base ingratitude. 
The standing box, the creeping evergreen, 
The cherry wild and branching elm are seen 
To weave deep-lettered on the mournful pall, 
" Here once the great, but now forgot of all." 

The blue bird, robin, and the thrush of spring, 
As once they charmed his musings, still they sing ; 
The Staunton rolls as when he silent stood. 
And heard its music in the forest wood ; 
Still sighs yon plaintive line, that tuned his ears 
To burst the deepest fount of passion's tears ; 
But not a man's — no widow's mite is found, 
To place the humblest stone upon his mound. 

Genius ! resume thy native skies, nor trust 

For tribute from us meanest worms of dust. 

If e'er an orator or bard appear, 

Once more to thrill this nation's rapturous ear. 

Let him, like Randolph, from the river's bed 

Bring forth a smooth round stone to tomb his head, 

And deep in woods, by human herds forgot. 

There Nature, sole sad mourner of the spot. 

May weave his mantle, sigh upon his bier, 

But ask not man for tribute — not a tear. 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 227 

LORENZO DOW. 

Not the least among subjects of interest in Bed- 
ford County, was the preaching of Lorenzo Dow. He 
made his first appearance in Timber Ridge Grove, be- 
tween Liberty and New London, before a vast con- 
com'se of people, who were by flying reports in a furor 
of excitement to witness the strange preacher, — a tall, 
long-faced man, with long Indian locks flowing down 
his shoulders, meek and solemn in countenance, with 
now and then a sly wink of waggish shrewdness, sin- 
gular in garb, eccentric in manners, vehement in 
declamation, witty in ridicule, cutting in sarcasm, 
quick in leaping to a logical conclusion, severe upon 
the commonly received doctrines of election, — a man 
who had filled the world with witticisms, been mobbed 
so many times, been excommunicated from his own 
church for wandering, who was boundless in his phil- 
anthropy, knowing no north or south, rich or poor, 
receiving no reward, forgiving all things, hoping all 
things, enduring all things ; the man admired by some 
of the purest Christians and condemned by others; 
thought by some a pure, holy, self-denying, perfect 
saint; by others, a perfect devil. Such a singular genius 
could not fail to awaken an interest. The triumph of 
his genius was complete. Sinners and infidels quailed 
at his graphic description of the final judgment and 
the agony of the lost, and many were smitten with 
conviction of their heaven-daring and hell-deserving 
sins. He prayed that the woman who was that night 
to die (at the same time pointing with thrilling effect 
among the dense crowd) might be prepared for judg- 
ment. The next morning found one of them a corpse 



228 SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 

« 

in her bed, and many now believed him a prophet sent 
of God. He preached several days, having many con- 
verts ; but he mixed much drollery with his genius, 
which gave offence to some of the elders. A dis- 
tinguished lawyer of New London remarked, that he 
never witnessed in any other person so great a combi- 
nation of sense and nonsense. 

ANECDOTES OF MR. DOW. 

A gentleman once meeting Mr. Dow on his way to 
an appointment, observed to him that he had lost an 
axe, and he expected the thief would be in Mr. Dow's 
congregation, and while the thief was at service, he 
intended to search his premises. "Never mind the 
search," says Mr. Dow ; " go with me, and the Lord 
will take care of your axe." Mr. Dow, placing a stone 
in his pocket, entered the pulpit, and preached upon 
the commandments. When the commandment against 
stealing was presented, he soared beyond his usual 
powers of description. He spoke of the ancient mode 
of restitution, and of the all-seeing eye of Omnipo- 
tence, and the duty of confession. He pictured graph- 
ically the stoning to death of Achan, the son of Carmi, 
who had stolen the Babylonish garment and the wedge 
of gold and shekels of silver. The audience could see 
him kneeling, and confessing before Joshua, and sub- 
mitting unto death, with the horrid destruction of all 
his family in flames. Now, there was a person who 
was guilty of stealing in that audience ; the punish- 
ment of fire would be hereafter, but the stoning would 
be now ! He seized the stone, calling upon the spirits 
of God and of angels to direct it to the head of the 



SKETCHES OP VIRGINIA. 229 

guilty. He saw a man in a distant part of his audi- 
ence begin to tremble, and felt confident of victory. 
He gazes intensely upon that man, with a furious, a 
most searching eye. The horrified, conscience-smitten 
wretch looks here and there anxiously, for a place of 
escape, biit the thick crowd in the grove presents a 
barrier. What was he to do ? The sure-aimed stone is 
poised in the inspired hand, and circling round with 
a deadly intent, when lo ! the quivering culprit jumped 
behind a tree ! " There, Neighbor Jones," cried out the 
preacher ; " there stands the thief who stole your axe, 
sneaking behind the tree." 

Once, arriving before the hour at the place of preach- 
ing, he met a negro boy with a tin horn, and inquired 
what use the boy intended to make of it. The boy 
stated that he had been hired to blow it while old Dow 
should be preaching. " Now, says Mr. Dow, '• will you 
blow it for me if I give you a dollar ? " The boy con- 
sented, and hid himself in the thick foliage of a tree 
over the preacher's head. When the audience came, 
he preached upon the judgment of the last day with 
wonderful vehemence. The audience could almost see 
a sinful world hurled to the judgment, the heavens de- 
parting with a great noise, and the elements melting 
with fervent heat, and almost hear the shrieks of the 
ungodly ; and in the midst of the excitement, at the 
top of his voice, the preacher cried out, " Blow^ 
Gabriel^ bloio ! " The boy commenced a slight toot at 
first, and then made the woods ring with reverberations 
almost deafening! Some actually fainted at the shock. 
" O you ungodly cowards!" cried the preacher; "it's 
nothing but a little nigger blowing a toot-horn ! If 
you are so easily frightened now, what will be your 
20 



230 SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 

consternation when the angel at the last day shall 
stand with one foot on the sea and one on the land, 
and sound the trumpet for the resurrection of the 
dead?" 

A young man on a spree determined to play a trick 
upon Mr. Dow, and laid a wager with his co*mpanions, 
of a gallon of rum, that in less than an hour he would 
go to Mr. Dow, be converted, and return a Christian. 
The young man, approaching Mr. Dow, said to him 
that he felt a deep sense of sin, that he should very 
soon be lost if he found no mercy, that he was willing 
to forsake all things and do any thing for the salvation 
of his soul, and that he had humbly come to seek an 
interest in his prayers. Mr. Dow stated that his case 
was hopeless without conversion, and ordered him to 
kneel for prayers. He cried : " O Lord I here at my 
feet is a great sinner. He has bet a gallon of rum ! 
Now, O Lord ! convert him if he will be converted ; 
if not, kill him and send him to hell! The man was 
thunderstruck ; without his hat, on all-fours, he crept 
for the door I Mr. Dow strove to call him back, stating 
that service was not properly concluded ; but the wretch 
fled for his life, declaring that the preacher was either 
inspired or had the Devil. 

.THE BEDFORD COUNTY SCHOOLMASTER. 

Two miles from Liberty is the grave of old Flood, 
the schoolmaster. Who, of all the sapient heads rear- 
ed beneath the cloud-capped Peaks of Otter, has not 
experienced the wisdom of Flood? Forty years a 
teacher, he knew more than all the world beside ; he 
also was blessed with a small smattering of Latin. If 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 231 

the abecedarian desired drink, he must lisp "^a me 
aquam , " if a free-thinker should presume even to hint 
that Flood was not the summum bonum of all things, 
he was immediately convinced of his error by a rap on 
his knuckles. Flood felt himself above common men 
with the goose-quill in their hats, and though a large, 
portly man, was a pattern of politeness. If a scholar 
unconsciously neglected the morning salutation, he 
must stay in at recess ; if he missed in spelling, he 
must clear off the stones in Flood's lot ; if he missed 
in grammar, he must take up as many grubs as he 
made failures. His system of government was re- 
publican, and seldom was a penalty inflicted without 
sentence from judge and jury, though several were 
flogged every day, and if a regular recipient of the 
penalty had unconsciously been neglected that day, he 
would inform his master and receive his dues. There 
was something mitigating in the punishment of the 
fair sex. After being tried and condemned, a stentori- 
an voice is heard announcing, that " if there be a lad 
who has the gallantry to come forward and receive the 
penalty of this fair miss, let him appear." Whereupon 
several boys would spring for the chance. The boy is 
the father of the man. Some of those volunteers never 
received a stroke of the rod, save in defence of the girls, 
and while they would have been broken down in spirit 
forever at the thought of being flogged for a misde- 
meanor, they delighted heroically to receive the lash for 
the fair ones. Here commenced the gallantry of many 
of the present Bedford County husbands. Well might 
the tomb of General Lewis be entrusted among such 
a people. 



232 SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 

East of the Peaks of Otter, towards Lynchburg, is 
" Poplar Forest," the summer residence of Thomas 
Jefferson. The dwelling is of brick, in the form of an 
octagon, similar to his ^lonticello residence. Here, 
during the winter of 1781, he WTrote his celebrated 
" Notes on Virginia^^^ in reply to the French Secretary 
of Legation to the L^nited States. They were printed 
several years after, while he was Minister to France. 
Neither Poplar Forest nor Monticello is now in pos- 
session of any of the Jefferson family. IMonticello is 
owned by a Jewish captain in the United States Navy ; 
the buildings are much dilapidated ; and the tomb de- 
faced by pilgrim patriots, who have barbarously ham- 
mered the monument for relics. Like the Plymouth 
rock upon which the Puritans landed, unless protected 
by iron bolts, the obelisk must pass away in pocket 
relics. Being near the University of Virginia, founded 
by Jefferson, and one of the most distinguished insti- 
tutions of the country, it is frequented by multitudes. 
Jefferson was profound as a statesman, sagacious as a 
law-maker, and ingenious as a philosopher ; but as a 
soldier and general, his skill existed only in theory. 
While Governor of Virginia, the traitor Arnold was 
allowed to sack the Capitol with only eight hundred 
troops, without losing a man. At that time, Virginia 
contained a population of half a million, and fifty 
thousand enrolled militia. But Jefferson was no war- 
rior , the mihtia were not assembled, and two hundred 
men stationed at Richmond had no use for their guns, 
though their situation was favorable to repel the in- 
vader. The five brass cannon were planted, not against 



SKETCHES OP VIRGINIA. 233 

the enemy, but at the bottom of the James ; the team- 
sters and militia, instead of loading muskets with 
powder and ball, loaded wagons with arms and am- 
munition, and drove them posthaste into the country. 
Five tons of powder were borne away with the utmost 
despatch. So animated was the Governor's fugitive 
movements, that one horse sank beneath him, and he 
was obliged to mount " an unbroken colt." Unparal- 
leled were his exertions, but unfortunately they were of 
no avail. The cannon were found, the powder, maga- 
zines, and public stores destroyed, with much private 
property. The liquor ran in streams down the gutters, 
and cows and hogs, partaking freely, were seen stag- 
gering about the streets, administering to the foe a 
lesson of temperance.* Meeting with no opposition, 
the British would naturally be inclined to return ; so 
the Legislature was obliged to adjourn to Charlotts- 
ville, and here they barely escaped being taken, and 
fled to Staunton, where, by Mr. Jefferson's request, 
General Nelson was chosen Governor. Gov. Nelson 
immediately repaired to join the army near Yorktown, 
and Mr. Jefferson retired to Poplar Forest. Here, being 
indisposed by a fall from his horse, he composed his 
" Notes," in which is shown much learning and felicity 
of expression. In accounting for the physical aspect 
of the country, the various layers of strata, and the 
sea-shells upon the mountains, he demurs somewhat 
from the opinion of theologians ; and treating on 
education, he thinks the Bible might be omitted, as a 
reading book, until the scholar shall be able to com- 
prehend it, — a doctrine agreeable to Catholics. Mr. 

* Howison. 

20* 



234 SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 

Jefferson was much influenced by French politics and 
French religion, while Randolph was completely Eng- 
lish in every thing. The JefTerson mansion at Poplar 
Forest has been owned for many years by Mr. Cobbs, 
a gentleman of fortune, but is now occupied by his 
son-in-law. The land is not generally productive. 

TOMB OF JEFFERSON. 



Hail Monticello ! at tliy shrine I bow, 

And drop the tear, and pay the pilgrim vow ; 

As evening weaves her shroud, and silence reigns, 

I muse with moonbeams o'er these cold remains. 

Hash stranger ! hold thy sacrilegious hand. 
Nor bruise this tomb for relics ! Mortal ! stand ! 
Or by the indignation of thy race, 
By mad irreverence, shame, by dire disgrace, 
By powers that guard the consecrated dead, 
Beware, e'er vengeance strike thy guilty head ! 

O patriot, sage, immortal Jefferson ! 

Behold the manglings of thy battered stone ! 

But think not all this race ungrateful. No ! 

This solemn hour, in yonder dome below, 

Are met the grave, the young, the wise, the great, 

Thy happy natal hour to celebrate, 

To laud thy fame, increasing age by age, 

As plans mature, revealed on history's page, 

That prove thee wisest, greatest, of the line 

Of learned statesmen to the present time. 

Forgot ? No, never ! All thy noble deeds 

Are more revered as age to age succeeds ; 

Thy venial failings all are laid aside ; 

Supreme thou stand'st, thy State's, thy nation's pride. 

A child of wealth, a champion for the poor, 
A son of rank, but loved republics more ; 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 235 

A student, promising for royal fame, 
But stood a rebel — come life, death, or shame ; 
The laws of primogeniture didst break ; 
Didst burst the bands of Church and State ; 
And to our Union won the western vale, 
And taught " expansion " in the public scale j 
And founded here a seat for classic lore, 
Where sages reverence thee, almost adore ; 
But one great deed, part human, part divine. 
Must fix thee with yon stars, throughout all time. 

Behold, the morning of the Fourth draws nigh; 
Ten thousand cannon flame Columbia's sky, 
To meet the golden chariot of the sun — 
A grand escort with shouts and fife and drum ; 
From east to west his flaming car is hurled, 
And met with rapturous cheers o'er half a world ; 
And on the brow of night, from shore to shore, 
Lo ! bonfires, rockets with the cannon's roar, 
That blaze our Independence through the sky. 
O Jefferson ! thou wast not bom to die ! 

When lay this country bound with tyrant's chains, 

And hesitation fluttered in her veins, 

Whether to strike, or to submit, and yield, 

Then Patrick Henry boldly took the field. 

He saw her bleeding — scorned the tyrant's might, 

And rose indignant to assert her right; 

With lightning's flash he roused each patriot sword, 

And hurled defiance in each burning word. 

As rise the dead on resurrection-day. 

As sounds the trump that stirs the lifeless clay. 

So Patrick Henry's thrilling accents came, 

And roused a continent to freedom's flame. 

*' To arms! to arms ! " now echoes through the vales ; 

E'en cowards shout it, and the traitor quails. 

Hark ! sweeping from the north the dread alarms 

That bring "the clashing of resounding arms ! " 

They bring from Bunker's Hill the martyr's breath, 

In dying prayer for " Liberty or death ! " 

Now Jefferson appears to take the bays 
From other brows, for all succeeding days ; 



23& SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 

Sagacious, learned, profound, he pens the line — 
The chart of liaman rights to stand with time ; 
Then sees its fiftieth promulgation day, 
And weeping, smiling, breathes his life away. 

Weep ! great Republic ! Jefferson is dead ! 
Bring forth your chaplets, and bedeck his head. 
Lo ! yonder capital in mourning rise ! 
Bereavement's tears suffuse a nation's eyes. 
Now Honor comes, a Aveeping pilgrim old. 
To deck with sacred bays the hallowed mould ; 
And Glory weaves with golden threads her crown, 
To glorify, at last, her son's renown ; 
And aged Gratitude, a venerate sire, 
In sable mantle strikes his sylvan lyre, 
And gathering up the deeds of parted worth. 
With sweet ambrosial odors pours them forth ; 
With generous hand he scatters garlands sweet 
In tear-stained tribute at the sage's feet. 
Bereaved Genius sighs with deepest grief 
O'er him, her purest and her noblest chief; 
And Learning, in her widowed mantle bound, 
Sits bathed in tears upon the moistened ground. 

GENERAL LEWIS. 

At the foot of Otter Peaks, in Bedfora County, 
towards Buford's Gap, is the grave of the brave Gen. 
Andrew Lewis. He was one of the celebrated Lewis 
family of Augusta County, of whom Gen. Washing- 
ton declared, in the darkest days of the revolutionary 
struggle, should all other resources fail, he might plant 
a single standard on West Augusta, meet the enemy 
at the Blue Ridge, and establish a free empire in the 
West. Lewis was commander of the Virginia forces 
at the Indian battle of Point Pleasant, in which his 
brother, Col. Charles Lewis, was killed. His forces, 
amounted to little more than a thousand men. Fif- 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 237 

teen hundred savages were led on to the attack, by 
Cornstalk, a gigantic warrior, whose huge frame was 
often seen gliding from tree to tree, encouraging his 
men with his stentorian voice, "^e strong! be strong!'^'' 
sometimes arose above the tumult of battle. But the 
skill and valor of the Virginians prevailed. Holding 
out their hats from behind the trees, the riflemen would 
often tempt the savages to fire. The hat would then 
drop, and when the warrior rushed forward to scalp his 
fancied prey, a rifle bullet brought him down. From 
early in the morning until sunset the battle raged with- 
out intermission. As the Indians began to give way, 
Cornstalk urged them to the fight, and with his own 
hand struck dead one of his fellows who showed signs 
of cowardice. But the whites pressed upon them, and 
soon drove them from the ground. Two field officers 
were killed, and more than half of the captains and 
subaltern officers were among the slain or wounded. 
This battle was fought in 1774. It is said, when 
Washington was commissioned Commander-in-Chief, 
he expressed a wish that the appointment had been 
given to Lewis. At his solicitation, Lewis accepted 
a commission of Brigadier- General in the American 
army of the Revolution. In expelling the forces of 
Lord Dunmore from Gwyn's Island, Lewis announced 
his orders of attack by putting a match to the first gun. 
Broken down with disease, he soon after resigned his 
commission, and died on his way home to Botetourt 
County. It was remarked by the Governor of New 
York, that "the earth trembled beneath him as he 
walked." 



238 SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 



MAMMOTH. 



South of the Peaks, near Buford's Gap, while exca- 
vations were being made for the railroad, have recently 
been discovered bones of the Mammoth. The descrip- 
tion of the size of these bones appears almost incredi- 
ble, though given by an eye-witness. The lower jaw 
being four or five feet, tooth eight inches, neck bone 
one foot, rib six inches wide and two inches thick. 
The most singular thing is the distance between the 
eyes, being six or seven feet. Jefferson speaks of this 
animal in his " Notes," as having the jaws of a hippo- 
potamus, and the tusk of an elephant, being larger 
than either, and a combination of both. Perhaps it is 
in mercy to man that this monster has become extinct; 
it must have fed on bears and horses, swallowing them 
whole. The bones of the one recently found covered 
a space of earth of more than forty feet. They were 
discovered in alluvial soil, upon a bed of limestone. 
As limestone rock was on either side, an Irishman 
commenced boring and blasting in the head of the 
animal, supposing it a kind of rock. When questioned 
as to his motives in destroying the bones, he replied : 
" Faith, there ba anough of the divlish crathur left 
after when ya build a railroad between his eyes !^^ 



INDIAN RELICS. 



Fourteen Indian skeletons were found while con- 
structing the railroad near the grave of General Lewis, 
and near the site of an ancient " block house," erected 
by the old settlers. Their implements of war were 
discovered with them. This plain was the theatre of 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 239 

many battles in ancient times, as the relics of savage 
and civilized warfare would indicate ; balls, tomahawks, 
hatchets, beads, pipes, arrows, and images of worship 
being found in large quantities. In the house where 
Capt. Buford now resides, a Wood family was murder- 
ed by Indians, who entered it in the night by the roof. 
A family by the name of Wheeler were all killed save 
one. A young man of this family, with his mother 
and her infant, was taken captive ; but on the morrow, 
the infant becoming burdensome, was dashed against 
a tree, and the sinking mother was soon also murdered; 
but young Wheeler was carried away, and remained 
with them seven years before his escape. The block 
house was constructed to protect immigrants for Ten- 
nessee and Kentucky, but was soon found necessary 
for the defence of the settlers in that region. An In- 
dian trail led through this part of the country, and here 
were frequent battles between different tribes. 

BROKEN-HEARTED. 

Two sons by the name of Holsten, while gathering 
mulberries at a short distance from the block house 
spoken of, were surprised by the Indians, one shot, and 
the other taken captive. Holsten, knowing the bar- 
barity of the Indians, expected nothing but death ; 
indeed, he preferred to be shot with his brother, to 
risking his fate in the expected torture. After three 
days' travel he was bound, and allowed to rest before 
his execution. Fatigued and exhausted, he slept and 
dreamed — dreamed only of the horrible. He saw his 
brother's blood, heard his dying shriek, felt his own 
flesh being consumed by their slow tortures, with 



240 SKETCHES OP VIRGINIA. 

agOji^y a hundred-fold worse than sudden death. It is 
no dream I Half awake, he sees the council of chiefs, 
the watch-fire, and the reeking tomahawk! With a 
deep groan, shuddering from the full depths of his dying 
heart, he closed his eyes again, wishing his sleep had 
been death I A hand presses his brow ! Is it the hand 
of the scalping knife ? He dare not look, but shrinks 
at the touch. Cold, beaded sweat streams down his 
face, as pale fear sits throned upon his brow, and his 
quivering veins hurry life's tide to his heart, where all 
is shocked and still. Oh, the agony of fear when the 
body is half dead by exposure and disease! Were 
Holsten now fresh and vigorous, his life would be sold 
dear to the savage. With a desperate effort he springs 
to his feet, hurling the hand from his brow; when, 
lo! it was the hand of a female — a hand of compas- 
sion ! He gazed, half hopeful, half in doubt, then fell 
again upon the ground in bewilderment, and wept 
with convulsion. His dizzy brain whirled with the 
extremes of hope and despair. He now feels his 
hands loosened from their fastening, and still a gentle 
finger upon his forehead, and a beautiful image by 
his side, wiping the cold, clammy sweat, and watching 
the agony of his heart. He rises, with gushing tears 
welling up from a heart overwhelming with gratitude ; 
he clasps her to his bosom in wild transports of ecstasy. 
Their hearts are united no more to separate. Veolia, 
the daughter of one of the chiefs, his protectress, be- 
comes his companion. Young Holsten, noble and 
adventurous, delights in the wild excitement of forest 
life, and surpasses the swift-footed Indian in the chase. 
The mountains and the cataracts are a passion to him, 
the softest furs are his pillow, the rarest game his food, 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA 241 

and Nature's noblest daughter his companion. What 
more can be desired ? Years of rapturous delight fly as 
a dream. He was familiarly known among the chiefs 
as " Ostee the Brave," the pride of " Olla" (or Veolia), 
his bosom friend and ministering spirit. But the time 
arrives when he must visit his parents and his friends. 
Can he leave Olla, to whom he owes his life and the 
joy of his happiest years ? Can he leave that pure, 
transparent face of love, never veiled from the sun's 
warm kisses, that has lit up his soul with feelings 
divine ? In heart she is an angel, but in color and 
name she is an Indian. This must forever debar her 
from the whites, though the children of Pocahontas be 
the first of Virginia blood ; and when the sons of God 
espoused the daughters of men, the intermarriage of 
the races produced giant men. Olla was not dark, but 
appeared as if her face and bosom were tinged with 
the hues of an Italian summer, her features chiselled 
for expressing the strongest passions and noblest pow- 
ers of intellect; and to the unprejudiced, she might be 
considered the beau ideal of beauty. Her eye was a 
host ; when it flashed in fierceness, heroes quailed ; 
when it looked in compassion, they melted to tears. 
Though against Ostee's enemies she was furious as 
Semiramis, terrible as Joan of Arc, she held him ever 
in the tenderest regard, and no provocation could es- 
trange her. He, and he only, was her idol, sent by the 
Great Spirit. To love, to serve, to worship him, was 
her life. Love was her soul, her sense, her whole 
being, pure as a snow-flake from heaven, and warm 
as the climate of the tropics. She heard Ostee's re- 
solve to visit the whites, and his promise to return ; 
and now comes the most trying scenes of her life. The 
21 



242 SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 

whites had proved insincere ; had made treaties and 
broken them ; had destroyed the hunting grounds, and 
slaughtered the poor Indian. With them, she feared 
the heart of Ostee might forsake her. She trembled 
and wept ; but upon a high mountain crag, looking 
towards the white settlement with brave despair, she 
bade him go. 

" Go, white man ! 011a will see thee no more ; a bird 
of fair plumage and sweet voice, that has nestled in 
my bosom. Olla loves Ostee, but Ostee loves not 
Olla. Go, white man ! Olla will take no venison but 
from the hand of Ostee ; her head shall press no furs 
but his. Olla will die. The Great Spirit calls her 
from the leaves of the trees in the air. Olla will die. 
She fears not to die. She fears nothing but to grieve 
Ostee. Ostee loves the pale woman. The pale race 
hate red man, and kill him. Red man saved thy life 
for Olla. Go, white man ! Olla will live no more." 

Holsten parted from her with a flood of bursting 
anguish. He visited the home of his boyhood ; but all 
things now how changed ! Where the subjects of his 
youthful attractions ? Where once were his wild hunt- 
ing grounds are now a multiplicity of roofs. How 
dull and desolate compared with the social spirit of the 
mountains ! and ploughing, planting, hoeing, and the 
dull, dead drudgery of civilization are intolerable. He 
longed for the forest, — for society unfettered by fashion, 
undisguised by art, deceit, and show. He longed for 
the presence of Olla ; but, returning to the wilds, he 
was doomed to sad disappointment I Olla was no 
more I She was not one to fill life's cup of pleasure 
to the brim, and feed on dregs forever after. The pleas- 
ure she had enjoyed ; — the sorrow she prevented by a 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 243 

suicidal death. Now Holsten's happiness was at an 
end ; he returned to Bedford County, dejected, dis- 
heartened. He replied kindly when spoken to, but re- 
garded all things earthly with indifference. His tall 
frame was bent, his head bowed. His friends resorted 
to every imaginable amusement, but in vain! He 
strove to hunt, but OUa would no more leap to his arms 
in his glad return with the game, and print the warm 
kiss upon his cheek. He had no spirit for the chase. 
He shot only one bird ; it was a dove, that fell quiver- 
ing and dying at his feet, with its heart's blood stain- 
ing the glossy feathers of its downy breast. He gazed 
upon it, saw its quivering wing, saw it dip its bill in 
the purple drops flowing from its innocent heart, and 
with pearly tears point towards him the blood-stained 
monitor. He thought of the wounded, broken heart 
of 011a, and would hunt no more. In vain they re- 
sorted to the violin ; there was no music to his ear but 
the voice of Olla ; and from the tall pine whistling in 
mournful numbers near his cabin door, he imagined 
that her spirit was sighing in low, dulcet strains, still 
fearful to enter the dwelling of the whites, still faithful 
in holy devotion to her ungrateful and most unhappy 
Ostee. He resolved upon an expedient to call her to 
his bedside, and converse with her in a language un- 
known to his relatives and friends. He placed his 
hand in his bosom and took the long braids of hair 
which he had kept with holy reverence near his an- 
guished heart since their last parting, and separated 
them in small strands of various sizes, and hung them 
in the crevices between the logs of his cabin, directly 
over his pillow. These long Indian locks had wit- 
nessed deep devotion, and the tenderest of human pas- 



244 SKETCHES OP VIRGINIA. 

sions. Many a time had they fallen upon the face of 
Holsten, drenched with the tears of his affectionate 
companion, and many a time had they veiled her face 
and drank the unseen drops of her overflowing love. 
Could she now forsake them, when strung by the hand 
of her dear Ostee, and kept as the only relict sacred to 
his heart! No, never! With the slightest breath of 
air pouring through the openings of the gable-ends 
of his cabin, the coarser strands were continually mur- 
muring, in low, pensive numbers, like the half-suppressed 
sigh of a dying loved one, striving to hide from her 
beloved companion the partially concealed grief of her 
broken heart. Now a brisk breeze strikes the finer 
cords with most piteous wailings, and the intermediate 
strands present every variety of sound. Night and day, 
without cessation, pours the ^Eolian melody, with ten 
thousand varieties, but with such deep-toned melan- 
choly as suits only one whose dying ear receives the 
far-off strains breaking in from the spirit world. Hol- 
sten reclined upon his couch and listened in silence, 
until his mind, fast loosing its attachment to earth, 
seemed with his Veolia far away. He thought (vain 
thought) that her tears glittered in precious pearls upon 
the sweating cords, and starting from his disturbed 
slumbers, he imagined her hand had pressed his brow, 
and her tears had distilled in affectionate sympathy 
upon his cheek, and " Veolia, Veolia," still whispers 
upon the strings. 'Tis a sweet sound. All the happi- 
ness of his life echoes in the name, and all his hope is 
to meet her in heaven. 

To call off his mind from the exciting subject, he 
was accompanied to the banks of the stream ; but there 
warbled in its flowing tide the name of " Olla;" there 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 245 

appeared upon the golden sands of the stream her 
spectral shadow beckoning him away, and he longed 
to embrace the object of his vision. He visited the 
stream day after day, growing paler and weaker, with 
the same shadows dancing before him, until, so atten- 
uated and spiritualized, there was but little remaining 
to expire of his earthly tabernacle. He laid himself 
upon his couch to die. His mind seems in unison with 
the strains over his head, his lips whisper to their num- 
bers, his eyelids sink languidly, smiles sit expressively 
upon his pale countenance, and as the low, mellow 
music expires with the dying wind, a shadow comes 
over his silent features, and the shrill tones of the next 
rising swell of that harp find no response — Holsten is 
dead ! And now Goose Creek, that favorite stream, 
whose murmuring waters witnessed the sports of his 
happy childhood, and sympathized with his melan- 
choly affliction, warbles, in mournful melody, by his 
grave, bearing upon its limpid bosom Nature's yearly 
offering of wild flowers as a tribute to his memory. 
The author obtained his knowledge of this case from 
several aged persons residing in that part of the 
country, but much of his information came from old 
Mr. Lamb, who is now in his grave. The first time 
thai he ever had the melancholy pleasure of witnessing 
a harp like the one described, was in a cottage in this 
part of Virginia, while suffering with sickness and 
depression of spirits caused by an ungenerous attack 
upon his character. May the inmates of that cottage 

be blessed of Heaven. 
21* 



246 SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 



THE ^OLIAN. 

He took from his bosom the braid. 
And strung to the breezes sighing ; 
All pale on his couch he was laid, 
And caught the sweet strain when dying ; 
It sighed in sad numbers low, 
Veolia, Olia, Olia, O ! 

Like whispers of angels the strain, 
Who sigh o'er the broken-hearted ; 
It calls forth his loved one again, 
The maid that long since had departed ; 
And sweet as the dulcimer's flow, 
Veolia, Olia, Olia, ! 

Like ocean in slumberings still, 
Soft spirits his senses are stealing ; 
Like ocean in boisterous thrill. 
Now rouses his rapturous feeling; 
And wail as the finer strings blow, 
Veolia, Olia, Olia, O ! 

The breezes are dying away, 
The sun slowly setting in sorrow. 
And pouring its last lingering ray 
On him, who will meet ere the morrow, 
Far, far from this desert of woe, 
Veolia, Olia, Olia, O ! 

And paler and weaker he grows. 
His spirit is calmly retiring, 
In tune with the wind as it blows ; 
His lips sweetly utter, expiring, — 
Too soft for us mortals below, — 
Veolia, Olia, Olia, ! 

Smiles dance on his countenance now. 
His visions of glory are breaking. 
But shadows come over his brow ; 
He sleeps ! but too deep for awaking ! 
He meets on the winged zephyr's blow, 
Veolia, Olia, Olia, ! 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 247 

The winds see their kisses in skies, 
And clouds flash the smiles of their greeting. 
And honey dews fall from their eyes, 
And ecstasy shouts at their meeting. 
Farewell ! with her lover must go 
Veolia, Olia, Olia, ! 

mourner's cave. 

On the north of the Flat Top Peak is the Mourner's 
Cave. In time of the first settlers a child was missed 
from a house at the base of the mountain ; but the 
mother, apprehending no danger, as the little dog was 
also gone, supposed they had accompanied the father 
hunting. As the father returned, the whole neigh- 
borhood was immediately rallied. Open fields and 
woods, hedges and ditches and precipitous steeps were 
searched, with the cry of " Martin ! little Martin ! 
where are you ? " until darkness came on ; but no voice 
replied. On the following day the search was renewed 
with increasing effort, but with the same hopeless 
result. On the third day the dog returned, but no 
child. In vain they strove to make the dog lead them 
back whither it had come ; but a larger dog being set 
upon its track, led directly to the Peak, but there was 
diverted from the track by the springing up of a deer, 
and could not be prevailed upon to proceed. Some- 
time after, the bones of a child were found at a cave 
near the top of the Peak, and were buried there. The 
impression seemed to be that the little dog remained a 
faithful watcher until the child had either perished by 
exhaustion, or was destroyed by wild beasts. Though 
it was natural for the child to mount higher and higher, 
that a view might be obtained of its home below, the 
pursuers little thought of searching the top of the Peaks 



248 SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 

of Otter. The yearly pilgrimage of the bereaved 
mother, coming with the earliest flowers of Spring, as 
an offering, and to weep over the grave and bewail her 
loss, has given it the title of " Mourner's Cave." 

MOUNTAIN FIRES. 

Great fires often occur in these mountains, filling the 
valleys with dense smoke, and flaming upon the brow 
of night, like an immense beacon seen at great dis- 
tance. Commencing near the base, ascending from 
branch to branch, from tree to tree, towering up the 
heights, spreading blackness, devastation, and death, 
it leaves a doleful track, like the march of an ambitious 
conqueror. Birds are driven shrieking from their nests, 
beasts howling from their caves, and the vigilant moun- 
taineer from his cabin, as with hoe in hand he trenches 
a barricade around his domicil for the protection of his 
frightened family. Stately, coal-black stumps ; long, 
extended, half-burned trees, stretching their huge trunks 
along the ground ; and the shingles of rock, splintered, 
blackened, burned, and balled, are monuments of its 
ravages. The undergrowth is thus benefited for graz- 
ing, and for this purpose the mountains are frequently 
set on fire. The creeping flame attacking the oak, con- 
suming the bark, the fibres, and the heart, ascending 
higher and burning deeper, until the lofty lord of the 
forest heaving his high top to and fro, sparkling, flam- 
ing, crashing, falls, — is like the spirit of an ambitious 
youth, striving for renown in classic lore. His mind, 
lighting upon his studies, increases its flame upon that 
which it feeds ; each obstacle seizing, penetrating, de- 
vouring, until the first object of his ambition is at his 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA 249 

feet. Seizing other obstacles before, and mounting 
other heights beyond, his soul increases its flame as 
his visage grows paler, until mounting the highest sum- 
mit of his ambition, consuming and being consumed, 
he stamps his high mark for immortality. 

LATTER DAY NIMROD. 

North of the Flat Top, far secluded from human 
track, with a multitude of dogs about him, lives a 
second Crocket — a sort of Daniel Boon. Arthur Tolly 
is his name, a young man of twenty-seven. He has 
killed sixty-eight bears ; nineteen in one year, and three 
in one day ; besides deer, wolves, wild-cats, wild tur- 
keys, raccoons, and snakes ; rattlesnakes, copper-heads, 
and hoop-snakes in great numbers. He shot one horn- 
snake, or hoop-snake, which is said to be nine feet two 
inches in length ; but we are rather inclined to doubt 
the accuracy of the measurement. He is swifter on 
foot than any white man or savage, and will tire the 
hound in chase. He rarely pursues the bear without 
success, such is his indefatigable zeal and matchless 
skill. While his terrified companions have stood in, 
the distance, rooted to the ground in horror at see- 
ing the dogs killed, one by one, by the wounded 
bear. Tolly has marched up, bestrided the bear, and, 
riding at full speed, with unloaded gun has beaten out 
its brains. Like Putnam shooting the wolf, he has 
entered the cave with torch in hand, despatched his 
bear, and returned in triumph. In the night, fighting 
in the shrubbery with the wounded bear, to save the life 
of his favorite dogs, he has seized it by the ear and 
cut its throat with a jackknife. He thinks much of 



250 SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 

his dogs, but his best ones have all been killed by 
the bears. They died bravely. Receiving a deadly 
wound, they expired with their teeth in. the bear's flesh, 
slf they kill the bear they expect a bountiful feast; — 
and they need it, for such a hungry, skeleton set is not 
often found. They all set in with tremendous howling 
when sounds the hunter's horn, excited perhaps by 
appetite as well as a desire for the chase. But they 
live as well as their master. Poor man ! he has killed 
the destroyers of sheep and hogs, and made the moun- 
tain safe, but suffers for one sheep or hog of the many 
which he has protected. Hunting has ruined him for 
steady employment, and at times his family must suffer. 

CELEBRATIONS. 

There have been several celebrations upon the Peaks 
of Otter, and several speeches delivered. However, 
unless the orator be superior in eloquence, the moun- 
tain seems to attract the chief attention of the audi- 
ence. In the Presidential canvass for Clay and Polk, 
a splendid pole, nearly a hundred feet long, was borne 
up these mountains on patriotic shoulders ; but the high 
winds destroyed the flag, and the unfavorable weather 
detracted much from the interest of the occasion. To 
completely prognosticate the future, during the night 
some evil-minded traitor cut the pole down. Few or 
no marriage celebrations have here occurred. Though 
many a young couple tighten the bands of friendship 
here, they do not tie the hymenial knot. Unless the 
banns should be more lasting than some of those 
united on the Natural Bridge, it were a matter of pru- 
dence to choose a less romantic spot for the solemn 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 251 

service ; but others think differently, and prefer the ser- 
vices as near to heaven as possible, and to such we give 

THE SONG OF FRIENDSHIP. 

Peaks of Otter ! heights eternal ! 
Great Jehovali's awful throne ! 
Seen at morn or eve nocturnal. 
Still majestic, stern, and lone. 

Storms and lightning, peals of thunder 
Smite thy bosom — smite in vain; 
Nought can move thee, nought can sunder, 
Storm and time nor mark nor stain. 

Up we hasten ! never falter ! 
Here we plight our banns of love, 
Heart to heart on Heaven's high altar. 
Seal this vow ! O hosts above ! 

Firm my pledge as this high mountain, 
Pure my love as this pure sky, 
Deep I've drank in love's deep fountain ; 
Thine I live, and thine I die. 

Dire misfortune may oppress thee; 

Pale affliction lay thee low ; 

Then these arms, these prayers shall bless thee, — 

Thine in weal, and thine in woe. 

NATURAL BRIDGE. 

The Natural Bridge of Virginia is situated seven- 
teen miles from the Peaks of Otter, thirteen from 
Buchanan, and sixteen from Lexington. It is two 
hundred and forty-six feet high, one hundred feet long, 
and sixty feet wide. The distance to the arch is 
two hundred and one feet, and the thickness of the 
arch forty-five feet. By these measurements, which 



252 SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 

have recently been given by a topographical engineer, 
we perceive that the bridge is higher than the Falls 
of Niagara by eighty feet. A description of this stu- 
pendous arch having been given by the graphic pen of 
Jefferson, and by other distinguished writers of more 
recent date, for us to attempt the task would only 
detract from the agreeable impressions which we have 
received from their writings. Many paintings and en- 
gravings have appeared, purporting to be a representa- 
tion of the bridge, but they express little or nothing of 
the sublime feelings which the overwhelming grandeur 
of the bridge inspires. To fully appreciate its grandeur, 
we are obliged to stand in the rocky bed of the stream 
below, and there, like the saint in the dungeon, we 
seem nearest heaven while deepest in the vale. The 
sight from the " Cedar Stump " upon the height pre- 
sents rather too much of the awful for common nerves, 
but the magnificent view from below is enjoyed and 
admired by all. The deep ravine beneath the bridge 
extends for several miles, and can be crossed only at 
this place ; but strangers passing over would not dis- 
cover any bridge unless previously informed of it, as 
the road has no peculiarities, and the valley is hid by 
hedges of cedar. Cedar Creek, passing through a lime- 
stone country, is much reduced in the hot season ; but 
at other seasons of the year is much larger than rep- 
resented by travellers. It warbles down this most 
delightful valley, through beautiful openings and dense 
thickets, and by steep, overhanging, flowery banks, for 
about two miles, and empties into the James. Here 
passengers leave the canal for the bridge Having wit- 
nessed the deep cut through the Blue Ridge by the 
James, they are prepared for the extreme magnificence 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 253 

which awaits them. Unlike the visitors of Niagara, 
no person is disappointed at first view, but exclaims : 
" the half hath not been told ! " Many have been the 
flights and adventures up and down these stupendous 
heights, — some safe, some fatal, some by a car from the 
top, some precipitous, some by intoxication, and some 
for love, and some for glory. About twenty years 
since, Leyburn Lackland fell from these heights while 
in a fit of intoxication. He had occasionally drank 
to excess, and upon the death of a beautiful, engag- 
ing, and affectionate wife, his intemperance knew no 
bounds. Seeing her features in the face of his lovely 
little child, only excited him to madness at his misfor- 
tune, and he strove to drown his sorrows in the bowl. 
In his delirium he sometimes declared that she was not 
dead ; that he saw her pale image in the room where 
she had died, bending over him in his afflictions, shed- 
ding upon his face the warm, gushing tears of her 
former affection, wiping the cold, clammy sweat from 
his brow, and with gentle hand softening his thorny 
pillow, presenting the cool, sparkling cordial to his 
fever-parched lips, and kneeling in holy communion 
with Heaven by his side. 

Again he affirmed it was but a shadow which he 
saw, and her spirit which he heard. Her image was 
beckoning him away from the agonizing tortures of 
earth, and her spirit called him. Once, upon a preci- 
pice, he was prevented from self-destruction by his 
friends. Once, while gazing upon the bed of a river, 
and seeing the phantom of his wife inviting him beyond 
the wave, he plunged into the bottom of the stream, 
and there, while seizing the roots and digging in the 
sand to embrace his fancied companion, he was again 
22 



254 SKETCHES OP VIRGINIA. 

rescued by his friends. But it was with reluctance 
that he yielded to their solicitations. When the 
chafing hand brought back his answering spirit from 
shades below, to take possession of his mortal frame 
again, and when the air touched his vitals, bringing 
nothing of life but torturing agony, he shuddered that 
he was alive. He thought he had remained beneath 
the tide but a moment — it was a pleasing moment. 
Wholly absorbed in his purpose, he felt no pain, and 
thought of nothing but the fancied image before him. 
But now appears to his swimming eyes a dark world — 
a world that had given him but little pleasure and 
much pain, and lastly, robbed him of the only object in 
life worth having. Why remain in it longer ? In his 
delirium he visited the Natural Bridge. There the 
same delusive phantom was before him, and though he 
had been unkind to his wife and maltreated her, yet 
the same forgiving, affectionate, weeping woman still 
clung to him, witnessed his tears, and called him away. 
He stood a few rods above the bridge, where the chasm 
is dark, deep, and wide. The stately trees, from the 
channel below, and the trees and shrubbery overhang- 
ing the banks, pierced by sunbeams dancing upon the 
silver foliage, with the almost unfathomable abyss, 
were easily peopled with fanciful objects by an over- 
strained imagination. There, near the opposite bank, 
were the face, the eye, the flowing locks, the beckoning 
hand, and the voice of his heavenly consort. He 
thought not of the depths, but the object beyond. He 
thought not of the world behind, nor cast a lingering 
look upon it, for there no object of attraction remained. 
The rays of the sun burst through the dense foliage, 
and brighter appears the fancied image; and with 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 255 

clasped hands, looking first upon heaven, then before 
him, he leaps to the arms of his spectral companion, 
and Leyburn Lackland is no more. 

DEATH OF WALLACE. 

Young "Wallace, who fell from the bridge in July. 
1850, though somewhat intoxicated, died with very 
different feelings from Lackland. He was of a highly 
respectable family, and would have been their pride 
and hope, were it not for drink. On the day before 
his death he had acted very strangely in taking a bot- 
tle to church, and desecrating the Sabbath ; but the 
poor man's sufferings and untimely end command our 
commiseration rather than blame. Truly, the way of 
the transgressor is hard. Though afflicted, mentally 
and physically, by habits of dissipation, and forsaken 
by his friends, he loved life, and clung to it with des- 
peration. Besides, with a mind beclouded with the 
fumes of alcohol, he was not prepared to die ; and, being 
young and vigorous, might have reformed and been a 
blessing to the world. It was at nightfall that he 
wandered upon the bank near where Lackland took 
his fatal leap. In bewilderment he ventured too far, 
and found himself sliding down the declivity. He 
thought of Lackland! His hair rose, and his heart 
fluttered with shocks of horror ! He grasps a shrub, 
which root by root gives way ; he seizes a shelving 
rock, which heaving to and fro now falls from crag to 
crag, and strikes the depths below with deafening groan. 
He slides apace, then rests upon a shelving crag, 
breathless, and fearful to stir. His senses are sobered 
by the shock, and he calmly contemplates his danger. 
A lifetime rolls by in a moment ; friends and relatives 



25G SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 

appear in his fancy ; and, could he once more meet 
them, he might pledge himself to a life of sobriety. To- 
morrow might find him a changed man, in principle 
and in heart. To-morrow might unite many hearts to 
him which have long been estranged. To-morrow 
might witness gushing tears, overflowing from full 
hearts, of deep-felt gratitude at his unfeigned repent- 
ance and noble bearing as a Christian. Can it be that 
to-morrow shall witness him bruised, pale, cold, and 
low ? The moon shone upon him, but not with the 
least glimmer of hope. The wind wailed piteously upon 
his ear, and all sounds were foreboding. With diffi- 
culty he has retained his position thus long, and now 
comes a struggle for life or death. Living a life of 
excitement and acquainted with danger, he cannot 
tamely submit ; and the impetuosity of his strong 
passions rises with the sublimity of the scene, and 
redoubled is his effort as life's last moment approaches. 
If these arms and nerves must yield to death, it shsill 
be when each finger is worn to the bone, and each 
strained nerve exerted to its dying grasp ! He seizes a 
shrub, but retains only the bark within his hand, and 
slides with digging nails, still clinging to the repelling 
rock, until he arrives at the very brink. And there he 
can remain but a moment, to bid farewell to home, to 
friends, and make his peace with Heaven I Struggling 
between hope and despair, life and death, his bleeding, 
hooked fingers slowly yield their reluctant gripe, his 
steel-strung nerves give way, his ghastly eyes roll 
upon the pale moon, his brain whirls round, he falls, 
and is dashed in pieces ! 

So great were the marks of his struggle upon the 
high bank, — the upturned stones and turf, the torn bark, 



SKETCHES OP VIRGINIA. 257 

and tearing away of shrubbery, — that his friends sus- 
pected that foul means were used, and ordered him 
to be disinterred and examined several days after his 
burial, to convince them that there was no shot or 
ball lodged in his person. A fine Temperance Hall 
is now erected within a few rods of the memorable 
place where he fell, and many a noble "Son" walks 
over the spot with his pure white regalia, clear-minded, 
upright, straightforward, and fearless of catastrophe. 

SAD ACCIDENT. 

In July, 1851 , a young man by the name of John B. 
Luster, met with a sad accident at the bridge, which 
proved nearly fatal. Mr. Luster was engaged with his 
father, in their store and tavern near the bridge, and 
made it his chief delight to interest the visitor in the 
stupendous grandeur of the scenes, and make his so- 
journ interesting and agreeable. But few young men 
had a greater number of ardent and devoted friends. 
He accompanied a young man from New York to the 
bridge, with chisel in hand, to engrave a name among 
the many hundreds already inscribed. Though acci- 
dents occur, ambitious youths will venture to imitate 
the Father of his Country, and place their names upon 
the sublime crags of Nature. Luster had ascended but 
about thirty feet, when he became a little dizzy, his 
foot slipped, and he fell. His skull was fractured, and 
for ten days he remained senseless. Finally, he so far 
recovered as to travel about, but fifteen months after 
was attacked with violent fits, and several pieces of the 
fractured skull oppressing the brain, he was obliged to 
have them taken away. He has nearly recovered, con- 
22* 



258 SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA 

tinues in business, and with the same affable manners 
and kind disposition ; but perhaps would as willingly 
allow the stranger to read the story of his melancholy 
catastrophe, as to be too inquisitive in calling to his 
mind an unfortunate occurrence. 

OTHER FLIGHTS. 

About ten years since, a Yankee pedler determined 
to honor his horse with a mess of oats upon the high 
precipice of the bridge. The horse seemed pleased 
with the oats, and appreciated them, as well, perhaps, 
as the beauties of the scenery; for he ate greedily, but 
soon became too much elated with the spirit of the 
heights for quietness and safety. The pedler pulled 
the reins, but there was no " whoa." Here and there 
the flying pegasus bounded, rearing and plunging, until 
lastly, horse, wagon, oats, and all fell, head foremost, 
topsy-turvy, and were spilled along the valley below. 
Even the wheels were dashed in splinters and scattered 
for many rods. The driver barely escaped, by unwind- 
ing the reins from his hand and grasping a cedar. He 
sold out the fragments without removing them, declar- 
ing that he had sowed the last of his wild oats. 

A deer was once found dashed in pieces at the base 
of the bridge; and once, on a sabbath, some mischiev- 
ous youngsters threw a dog from the heights, which 
yelped but few times before his breath was gone, and 
soon he struck the rock below and parted asunder. 
From a family residing a mile or two from the bridge, 
a company of visitors once purchased a cat for a dol- 
lar, for their fiendish sport. Each person chose his 
position to witness the exciting scene, and poor puss 



SKETCHES OP VIRGINIA. 269 

seemed conscious of danger, as she bit, and scratched, 
and wauled hideously to extricate herself; but she 
was paid for, and had no right to complain. Fortu- 
nately"; such a cat was just the one to take care of her- 
self, and finding herself obliged to go, she kept her 
feet directly under, and sounding no very agreeable 
music as she went down, struck splash into the water, 
and shaking off the liquid drops as testimony against 
her tormentors, she scampered home, anxious to share 
a part of the proceeds of the dollar in warm milk. 
Puss, after this, became an idol of the neighborhood, 
as being the only surviving animal that ever took a 
Sam Patch leap from the Natural Bridge. 

A teamster once encamped for the night upon the 
bridge, and as he commenced cutting wood for his camp 
fire, he felled a cedar, and felled it quite a distance, — 
so far that he dared not follow it. Seeing it settling 
down from him, and it finally disappearing in the dark- 
ness, he fled in terror to the nearest dwelling, inquiring 
what spiritual power had mysteriously robbed him of 
his fuel. Upon being informed that he had encamped 
upon the Natural Bridge, and that his cedar tree had 
probably fallen several hundred feet, he congratulated 
himself that he had not gone after it. 

ASCENSIONS. 

Several persons have obtained notoriety by ascend- 
ing the heights of the bridge. Much has been said of 
the daring feat of young Piper, a student from Lexing- 
ton, who climbed the walls of the bridge in 1818. The 
exploit has furnished a subject for many fictions, and 
given him a sort of immortality which he little expected. 



260 



SKETCHES OP VIRGINIA. 



Mr. Piper is still living. A most graphic represen- 
tation of an adventurous exploit is given by Bunitt, 
entitled the " Ambitious Youth." The youth witnessed 
far up the heights the name of Washington, inscribed 
there before Braddock's defeat, and became ambitious 
to place his own name as high as that of the Father 
of his Country. By steady nerve and noble daring he 
succeeded in engraving his name, in large capitals, 
above that of Washington, and still was bent upon 
mounting higher, and again inscribing his name. 
With his knife he cut notches in the limestone rock 
for his hands and feet, until he had mounted so far 
that the voice of his companions could not be heard. 
Now he becomes weary, his nerves relax, and his knife 
is blunted and worn. For him to return is impossible, 
and the chance of his mounting the heights improba- 
ble. His head swims, his heart faints, and the wind, 
echoing through the tunnel, sounds his funeral kneU I 
The sun is setting, and with its falling beams sinks his 
dying hope. In the midst of despair, he hears a voice 
from above : « William, look up! Mother and sister are 
praying here!''' and with renewed energy he cuts his 
way, and mounts higher, until nature is exhausted. 
His knife falls; his foot slips; but, as his eyes roll in 
despair upon the gulf, he sees a noose rope before him, 
and with both hands united, balanced on one foot, he 
thrusts his hands into the noose, and hangs fainting, 
dangling in the air! He wakes— he wakes in the 
cabin of his home ! Bright lights and bright faces are 
shining upon him, and he lies upon a downy bed. But 
at the first return of his departed senses, he imagines 
himself still clinging with digging nails to the flinty 
rock ; with his last exhausted grasp he sees the horrid 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 261 

'^hasm, and again his heart is still. He wakes again ! 
Is this a soft couch on which he lies, and no rocky bed 
of yonder chasm ? Is this the air of earth he breathes ? 
Are these the walls of home ? Is this a smiling sister's 
face — smiling with gushing tears streaming down her 
beauteous cheeks with gratitude to Heaven ? Is that a 
mother, weeping, praying, blessing God for the recovery 
of her son ? Still hoping, still doubting, he rises ! He 
flies to the arms of his sister, and bathes his blushing 
cheek with sympathetic tears mingling with her own. 
After many warm congratulations and happy greetings 
of his numerous friends, he inquires of his success. Is 
his name there ? Is it high and intelligible for future 
generations to read, respect, and applaud? Then he 
is happy, and contemplates with thrilling rapture his 
daring enterprise. Knowing that the glory of the sol- 
dier is won at the expense of danger, that the most 
brilliant productions of poetical or musical genius have 
emanated from a sickly frame, when the spirit of life 
was near another world, he could not expect the boon 
of immortal renown, amid the competitors of the pres- 
sent day, without a struggle, without hazard, and the 
forfeit of almost life itself. 

OTHER ASCENSIONS. 

In 1845, Alexander Shaner distinguished himself by 
ascending the precipitous steep of the bridge, near the 
cedar stump. There is nothing remarkable in his as- 
cent. He stuck like a leech to the rock, his heart beat 
calmly, and he felt safe in climbing, while others would 
have fainted in gazing upon him. Not content with 
the golden renown which brings no reward, he soon 



262 SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 

embarked for the more substantial substance in Cali- 
fornia. Such a spirit is well suited for the toils and 
exposures of the golden regions. Some time after this, 
James Luster, — a younger brother of the Luster who 
fractured his skull by a fall at the bridge, — determined 
to immortalize himself by a flight to the top, and while 
his playmates were gazing in breathless suspense, he 
succeeded in reaching the heights. But to his misfor- 
tune his companions revealed the secret of his advent- 
ure to his father. Poor James had to prepare himself 
for a not very desirable reward, but a very common 
one for noble daring. The father's anger was kindled 
that his son should be so venturesome, and he resolved 
upon a speedy remedy. With rod in hand, impetuous 
to do its duty, he could listen to no palliation of the 
case, and hushed the entreaties and remonstrances of his 
son to silence. Lastly James obtained a hearing. He 
inquired what was the offence, and what the benefit of 
the contemplated penalty ? The offence, if it might be 
considered an offence, was now committed and could 
not be recalled ; and " Father," says he, " I have climbed 
there once and shall not do it again, and if you whip 
me a thousand times you cannot prevent what I have 
done, nor make me do it over.'' The logic of the son, 
not the first time in parental jurisprudence, changed the 
sentence of the court, and obtained a verdict of acquit- 
tal, with a long rigmarole of admonition and repri- 
mands which the sporting spirits of the boy had hardly 
time to listen to. 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 263 



INCIDENTS. 



Many persons have settled down from the bridge by 
a car suspended from a windlass, moved by servants 
for that purpose. The descent or ascent is most sub- 
lime, transporting the passenger into a sort of new 
world of feeling — a spirit realm. If the grandeur is 
so overwhelming to the senses as to cause fainting, 
there is no danger of falling out of the bucket ; and 
in ' these artificial flights, no accident has ever occur- 
red. During the last war with Great Britain, the 
heights of the bridge answered the purpose of a shot 
tower. A large cylindrical tube of canvas extended 
from the summit to the bottom of the stream, distended 
by hoops, and supported by hooks and ropes. In time 
of a great storm and freshet, it was discovered that the 
lower part of the apparatus was in danger of being 
swept away, and the upper part of the machinery was 
likely to be drawn with it. How to unfasten the lower 
part of the tube was the difficulty. The current was 
too deep and rapid for any to venture that way, and to 
descend in the tube required more than common nerve. 
At length a negro by the name of Patrick Henry vol- 
unteered his services. He seized the ropes within the 
cylinder, and descended gradually from hoop to hoop, 
and anived safely at the surface of' the foaming tor- 
rent. Like his namesake, he could descend to the 
depths and soar to the heights of the sublime in human 
passion, and not figuratively, but literally, with spirit, 
body, and breeches. The fastenings were cut loose, and 
now comes another difficulty: Patrick just discovers 
that the wind sweeps through the arch, — a perfect hurri- 
cane. Scarcely had the last cord yielded, before poor 



264 SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 

Henry finds himself unceremoniously swung off more 
than fifty feet. To and fro swings the dark tube with 
its darker occupant, now snapping and cracking with 
just weight enough to give it force, now doubling 
itself up in a whirlwind, and now coming down with 
an impetuous jerk, that would send any thing but a 
dying darkey hundreds of feet down to precipitate de- 
struction. But Patrick's fists are locked in the ropes 
and will stick though the wind may snap his heels off. 
To the great joy of his owner, and not much less to 
the satisfaction of himself, he arrives safely upon the 
bridge — the hero who has stood where shots have 
fallen thickest, has breasted the storm, and is the lineal 
son who has literally descended in direct line from 
high-blooded progenitors. 

NUPTIALS. 

There have been several marriages upon the bridge, 
and many matches made which have resulted in sub- 
sequent marriages. One party came a long distance, 
from a place near Salem, and were united in a sol- 
emn manner, witnessed by all Nature. Nature was 
in sympathy with their love. The sky presented not 
the slightest speck of a ruffled cloud ; the sun was 
warm in its sympathetic beams ; the stream below 
scarce rippled, so anxious was it in silence to hear the 
ceremony ; and the songsters coming from their sylvan 
homes, and in silence resting upon the floral tapestry 
of the bridal chamber, mutely witnessed the imposing 
union of the fair couple, then struck up their hyme- 
neal songs, that stirred the air again, startled the river, 
and set all the pine trees whistling. Trust not in 



SKETCHES OF VIRGINIA. 265 

the capricious freaks of Nature. She is a changeable 
dame, and often presents the clearest sky before the 
greatest storm. The couple spoken of were too ro- 
mantically united, lived unhappily, and parted in about 
six months. Another couple from Rockingham brought 
a Lutheran minister with them, and were so strongly 
bound together that it would take two worlds to sepa- 
rate them. 

23 



PRISON INCIDENTS. 



POWER OF APPETITE. 



While visiting the jail at Albany, N. Y., I found a 
victim to the chains of appetite, more deeply bound 
than by the iron bolts and bars that surrounded him. 
He was an old man of sixty years, and had graduated 
from more institutions of this kind than most men of 
his age. But, as he related his trials, and wept and 
begged so hard for me to assist him in his release, I 
could but pity the man, notwithstanding his crimes. 
Said he : "I am an old man of threescore years, and 
have spent most of those years in sorrow, and many of 
them in prison. Several times have I been sentenced 
to Sing Sing, and several times to the penitentiary 
on the hill of this city, and all through strong drink. 
When in liquor I had no regard for human life, and 
felt as if I wanted to kill every man I saw. Yet, once 
I had a home and wife and child, which were all loveli- 
ness to me ; and in my sober moments I loved them 
better than myself, and would make any sacrifice for 
their welfare. And the only times when I was severely 
punished in prison were when transgressing the rules to 
inquire concerning my family. There was a person 
who came to the prison from my own neighborhood, 
and I was anxious to hear from him about my home 
— did my wife still remember me? — and would my 

266 



POWER OF APPETITE. 267 

child still call me father ? I found that they had not 
cast me off, that they were still mine ; but my trans- 
gression against the rules of the prison could not go 
unpunished, and I was brought up to the lash. Five 
times was I lashed for speaking of home, and five-and- 
twenty times would I have been, if my wife could have 
looked on and seen me suffer and then have forgiven 
me. Oh ! I felt that the lash was too easy for such a 
hardened wretch as I had been, and came with too 
mild a hand. I cried to the administrator, ' Strike 
harder^ Sir I strike harder I you cannot reach the flinty 
hardness of my heart.' It needs an iron rod with sin- 
ews of steel to pierce me to the quick ! That night I 
dreamed of home ; and the dream paid me for all my 
suffering. I dreamed that I was a reformed man, I 
was pardoned by the governor and by the public, and 
was clothed and in my right mind, and was journey- 
ing towards home. I was fearful that I should not be 
received, and trembled. Carefully I approached the 
door ; tremblingly I raised the latch ; and what was 
my joy, when my wife welcomed me as if all were for- 
given and all forgotten ! Her first look was kindness, 
and her first word was in love ; and as she embraced 
me in kindness, I reached forth my hand to grasp my 
little Nelly as she climbed up into my lap, and printed 
the pure, lovely kiss upon my pale, care-worn cheek, 
and put her little, tender arms around my unworthy 
neck, so sweetly, so innocently, so tenderly, that with 
the excitement I awoke, reaching forth my hands. 
But I found it was all a dream — a phantom! I em- 
braced nothing but empty air, and struck my arms only 
against iron bars and rocky walls. I rolled on my hard 
oallet, goaded by despair, and smarting of the cutting, 



268 POWER OP APPETITE. 

festering flesh, made sore by the lash. Five years 
passed before that dream was fulfilled ; and when ful- 
filled, I came home only to break that woman's heart, 
and send her to the grave. Oh that drink ! that death- 
dooming drink! Oh, the appetite that cries, Give! 
give ! And yet an ocean would not slake its thirst. 
Again I was enraged with rum in a mad fight, and 
again was sent to prison. O sir, my life has been 
made up of prison-life and sorrow ! And now, sir, I 
thank you for hearing me so patiently ; and if I may 
trespass further, I will make one request : My health 
is now broken, I am old and decrepit, and I want once 
more to breathe the free country air. If you will inter- 
cede for me at the court, that I may not be sent to the 
penitentiary again, you will do me a great favor, and, I 
hope, God service. I know my failing ; I know I can- 
not resist temptation when exposed ; but I pledge you 
that, if I shall be released, I will not stay one hour in 
Albany, but will repair immediately to the country, 
where, with a temperate family, I hope I may spend 
the quiet of my days. Then, sir, if you are a friend 
of humanity, and have it in your power to help me, oh 
do not let this opportunity fail you of blessing an old 
man, whose days at the longest are but few, whose 
locks are already white for the grave, and whose feet 
have trod long enough the thorny paths of sorrow 
and crime! " I presented the case before the judge, and 
asked his leniency to the victim, as a favor to myself 
as well as to him. The judge informed me that he 
was willing to show me a favor, considering my mis- 
sion ; " but," said he, " to see how little good you can 
do in such a case, I wish you to watch the jail for 
the same oerson again." And, sure enough, when the 



POWER OF APPETITE. 269 

man went out he had three cents, and as he must walk 
some distance, and his nerves were all unstrung, he 
thought to get a little tobacco. And when he came 
near the shop, the insatiate appetite gnawed as a 
canker upon his vitals, and perhaps a little beer 
might steady his nerves and not injure him. But, 
upon entering, his power of resistance was insufficient ; 
he had hold of the decanter before he knew hardly 
what he was about ; and when once he had tasted, 
he knew not ^ when to stop ; in a moment he became 
delirious, and the keeper was obliged to force the bottle 
from his hand, and call in an officer. Oh, how shamed 
that man looked next day, when I saw him in the same 
cell again ! He made no apology. Said he : "I am a 
doomed man ; for me there is no hope. Go and warn 
the young ; tell them that the first draught is the guilty 
draught. I thank you for your kindness, but all is of 
no avail to me. The few days that I have to spend on 
earth will be as the days that are past, fraught with 
sorrow, and full of trouble. Let the prison be my 
home ; let its damps bleach these white locks ; let its 
walls echo my groans ; let solitude be my friend, and 
despair my only comforter ; let my ear hear nothing but 
the creaking bolts ; and let my eye grow dim with the 
darkness of my cell ; and, lastly, let the culprit's grave 
cover me. I am not fit to live ; and, oh, I fear that I 
am not fit to die ! I would ask you to pray for me ; but 
I fear, sir, that you have no confidence in me, and think 
me unworthy of a breath of prayer. It is true, I am 
unworthy ; I am nothing, and worse than nothing My 
nerves are broken, my mind is gone, my flesh is cor- 
rupt, and I have no strength left, save in this burning 
appetite. And this is an unchained tiger that has torn 
23* 



270 THE prodigal's return 

its victim in pieces and feeds on the carcass. It fattens 
and grows stronger as the carcass fails. Oh, cursed 
be the day when my mother put the bottle to my lips ! 
Cursed be the hour when I first saw my father drink! 
Cursed be the wine of my bridal day ! and cursed the 
day wherein I was born I Let the day be turned into 
night, and let the darkness cover it." I prayed with 
the old man, and strove to console him. He wept, and 
kissed my hand, and blessed me with a thousand 
thanks, and bade me go and warn the young, and never 
to spend my breath in striving to save one so degraded 
as he. 

THE prodigal's RETURN. 

At a poor-house in Plattsburg, N. York, on a cold 
winter's night, a young man came and knocked for 
admission. He was very thinly clad, and what gar- 
ments he wore were in tatters. He was a prodigal from 
his father's house, both spiritually and temporally con- 
sidered. He was very humble ; he thought no station 
too low for him, and no chastisement greater than he 
deserved. The keeper of the almshouse and several of 
the neighbors took pity on him, and furnished him with 
some clothing, and, to give him employment, they sent 
him their children, and furnished a room for teaching. 
He was, however, entirely unable to exercise any control 
over his pupils. Unbidden tears would steal down his 
cheek, and his eye would be fixed in thought, and lost 
in vacancy, until, finding that the boys were watching 
him, he would start from his seat, wipe his face, and 
make an effort for business. But the business was 
new, he was unacquainted with their books, had no 
knowledge of school discipline, and was not in a proper 



THE prodigal's RETURN. 271 

mood at this time to learn. The boys very soon dis- 
covered how weak a hand held the reins ; and before 
noon, began to run about, and laugh, and make sport 
of their teacher. In vain he strove to call them to 
order, and in vain he requested them to attend to their 
studies. They liked sport better than study, and had 
more fun over a mouse which they had killed than books 
would furnish. One half-day passed, and when noon 
came he ate nothing, and spent the hour in weeping. 
Oh, how dark was that hour! how sad the thoughts 
that occupied his mind! how full of deep emotion 
every thought ! Yet all his bitterness was known only 
to himself. He had no one to whom he could un- 
bosom his feelings, or unburden his grief. He took 
every thing the boys said against him as being true, 
and, as it were, dictated by Heaven. He felt that that 
poor object of their sport, the dead mouse, was but the 
image of himself, and all that he needed was but a 
burial. In the afternoon the boys only increased in 
rudeness, and made sport of him with still greater 
freedom. Some thought he was love sick, and some 
said he must have committed murder; but the more 
general opinion was that he was a fool. And several 
of them took their books at night, and shouted and 
hooted at him as they went, and said that they should 
not go to school any more to a poor-house fool. That 
night the teacher, in tears, called at the house of his 
chief benefactor and said, " Sir, I wish you to take 
back your clothes ; here they are ; I cannot pay you for 
them, and I cannot teach." - Here he was choked by 
sobbings and could speak no further. " Come in ! 
come in!" said the landlord ; " come in and get some 
supper." " No, sir," said the teacher; " I rather not' I 



272 THE PRODIGAL^S RETURN. 

have no desire to eat." Then he turned his face away 
to hide his tears. " You must not go off so," said the 
landlord ; " come in and spend the night ; you must 
come." And at last he was constrained to come. 
But he could not eat, neither could he be induced 
to put on the new suit again. They asked him if he 
was sick ? " No." If he had heard any bad news ? 
" No." Then they began to wonder what could make 
him so sad. Some whispered what the children said 
about " murder," and some began to suspect that all 
was not right. As he sat in the corner they strove to 
interest him, and divert his attention, but all to no pur- 
pose. The children sported around him, but he heeded 
them not, and the lively conversation of the room had 
no interest for him. At last some one asked him if he 
had a " mother " living ? At the name of " mother " 
he sprang to his feet and answered very abruptly that 
he had, but immediately requested a light that he 
might retire. Poor man! his heart was too full for 
concealment, and he sought a place to weep. The 
murder he had committed was against his Lord and 
Saviour Jesus Christ ; he had crucified him by his sins ; 
and when he thought of his mother's prayers his feel- 
ings were beyond control. At midnight they heard 
groaning in his room, and entered. He was on his 
knees, praying. He knew not that any person came 
into his room ; he was lost in prayer. He knew nothing 
but that he was a sinner ; felt nothing but sin, and 
wished for nothing but relief or death. In the morning 
the landlord called the neighbors, and they went with 
the teacher to the school. They gave the boys their 
charge, and some of them, when they thought what 
they had done, wept, and asked their teacher's forgive- 



THE RUMSELLER'S DREAM. 273 

ness. From that time the young man prospered. To 
obtain more wages for purchasing books, he taught also 
a singing school ; and one year and a half from that 
time was standing on the walls of Zion preaching the 
Gospel. He became quite eloquent as a preacher ; and 
eternity only can tell how many souls shall be as stars 
in the crown of his rejoicing. 



THE RUMSELLER's DREAM. 



The following was suggested by the history of a rum- 
seller who hung himself in Vermont, through remorse 
of conscience, on account of a horrid dream he had on 
the night of his death. The story, however, is true, 
and also the substance of the dream. 

He started from his couch at night, and, haunted by 
the ghosts of his crimes, he resolved to put a period to 
his life, by a rope in the barn. He considered a mo- 
ment ; and reflecting upon his awful condition, he 
thought how dreadful to be ushered into the presence 
of his God with all his crimes upon his head. He 
hesitated, parleyed with hiniself, and attempted to 
pray ; but finding no relief, he returned in lamentations 
of despair to the bedside of his wife, and requested her 
to pray for him. Said he, " You cannot imagine the 
agony of my soul! I feel that I cannot live until 
morning! Oh, my crimes! my crimes ! For several' 
days conscience has pictured to me the fruits of my 
traffic. I have seen the families ruined, the healths 
wasted, the fortunes squandered, and the degradation 
and death attributable to me ; but this night my hor- 
rors are beyond endurance. I have dreamed, and it 
cannot be all a dream. I dreamed that I was carried: 



274 THE rumseller's dream. 

to my grave, but did not stop where good men rest. I 
was carried beyond the grave, beyond the cold river's 
banks, beyond the iron gates of the dark empire of 
death, to meet my doom. As I passed the gates, 
howling fiends and hideous dragons gnashed upon me, 
as if to torment me before the time. Their howhngs 
were so horrible, so deafening, that I thought I was 
among the damned. Now worse sights appeared ; 
worse, because they were connected with my own crimes. 
Through the dim shadows of a lurid flame, I saw a 
multitude of ghostly forms in white robes, approaching 
me. They muttered loud lamentations, and moved to 
the tune of doleful dirges. As they drew nearer, and 
their voices became more audible, I recognized in them 
an army of broken-hearted drunkards' wives, such as 
once met me with a petition requesting that I would 
sell no more rum. 

" The leader of the procession was one who once sup- 
plicated at my knees, and returning home was mur- 
dered by her drunken husband. The gash was still 
visible upon her forehead, and from out the wound 
came flaming characters written — ' Vengeance is mine ; 
I will repay^ saith the Lord.'' She seemed no more 
a suppliant, but haughty and revengeful. She held a 
decanter in one hand, and in the other a pitchy torch, 
whose bituminous droppings lighted up a burning track 
behind them, for vengeance to follow. Her eyes, flam- 
ing with fury, turned here and there, as if in pursuit of 
some person. Oh, I would have given a world to 
escape ! but I was motionless. My hair stood erect, 
my eyes burst from their sockets with amazement, 
my heart became as a stone, the channels of my 
blood were congealed, my mouth burned as an oven, 



THE RUMSELLER'S DREAM. 275 

and I almost felt the red-hot lava from that flaming 
decanter searing my throat. Oh, if I could flee I but I 
could not escape, I could not stir, I was rooted to 
the ground. Nearer they came, chanting in doleful 
numbers these words — 'When your fear cometh as 
a desolation and your destruction as a whirhvind^ I 
will laugh at your calamity and mock when your fear 
comethJ I thought that the whole kingdom of dark- 
ness was full of eyes thicker than the stars, and all of 
them were turned towards me. I saw the first in the 
procession take from her bosom a quantity of gold | 

which was stained with the blood of orphans ; with 
her torch she melted it, and poured it into her decanter, 
then sang — ' Reward him as he rewarded you^ and 
double unto him double according to his work ; in the 
cup luhich he hath filled, fill to him double.^ Then they 
brandished their torches and shouted aloud. At this I ■ t 

shrieked out in horrid agony, and fell down as a dead 
man. How long I remained senseless, I know not; 
but when my spirit came back again, I dare not for a 
long time look up. Finally, when I heard no more 
sound, I resolved to raise my head and seek to escape ; 
but, horrible to relate, upon the burning track which 
they had left, I saw a huge engine belching forth sul- 
phurous flames, and rolling towards me. In the engine 
was a vast furnace ; and in the furnace an imao-e 
called Moloch, and in his burning arms were a multi- 
tude of drunkards' children in excruciating torments. 
And they cried with a loud voice — ' How Ion"-, O 
Lord^ dost thou not judge and avenge our blood on 
them that dwell on the earth ? ' And as they cried, 
forthwith the whole furnace bristled with bayonets of 
flame, and the whole engine belched out living fire. 



276 THE RUMSELLER^S DREAM. 

Beneath its wheels I saw those inebriates who lost 
their lives by placing their necks upon the railroad track. 
They were now chained to the wheels, and rose and 
fell, shrieking with every revolution. And blazing 
forth on every bayonet was written, * The sting of death 
is sin ; ' and from the mighty arm that held them, ' The 
strength of sin is the law.' * Vengeance ' was writ- 
ten on the brow of the engine, and over this stood a 
bloody wretch with his throat cut in a wide, bleeding 
gap, from ear to ear, and with coiling serpents in his 
hair, and his baleful eyes flashing indignation ; and he 
had a bottle in his hand, which was transformed in its 
lower part into a spear, by which he stirred up the 
flames and spurred on the arm of the law. From his 
mouth came horried oaths of blasphemy. After this, 
he cried — ' Woe to him that giveth his neighbor drink, 
that piitteth the bottle to his lips, and maketh him drunken. 
He shall seek death and shall not find it, and shall de- 
sire to die, and death shall flee from him. He shall 
drink of the wine of the ivrath of God which is poured 
out tvithout mixture into the cup of his indignatiori, and 
he shall be tormented ivith fire and brimstone, and the 
smoke of his torment shall ascend up, forever and ever.^ 
He closed. His voice was so deafening that I thought 
the circumambient walls of Erebus must crack and 
break in pieces, and fall on my guilty head. And that 
^forever I ' — oh, how it reverberated, again and again, 
through the infernal regions ! I thought its multiplying 
echoes would never cease. * Forever ! ' resounded from 
the walls, then back and forth, from cavern to cavern, 
and far down the labyrinthian windings, from murky 
crag to crag, and in the dark, unfathomable abyss re- 
echoed ' forever and ever ! ' And the psile train now 



THE RUMSELLER'S DREAM. 277 

returning with torches waving, shouted * forever ! ' 
And the appalling spectrums of the damned echoed 
^ forever ! ' And fiends, howling over the blistering 
links of their hot chains, resounded ''forever ! ' And 
the rolling surges on the lake of fire answered ' for- 
ever ! ' And borne on by the whirlwinds of wrath, the 
swelling billows dashing against the red-hot rocks of 
damnation, echoed back, * forever and ever ! ' Oh, the 
sorrows of my soul ! I thought I was lost, and lost 
forever. I thought of the Bible lessons of my youth, 
and of a mother's prayers; I thought of the many 
times God's spirit had called me to repentance, the 
many revivals I had passed through, and of the many 
gracious promises I had slighted. I thought of this 
victim of my trade ; how he went home delirious with 
the drugs of my poison ; how his wife had entreated 
me, but in vain ; how at home she had fallen asleep 
weary with watching, and suddenly awoke just in time, 
with her hands and eyes and prayers raised to heaven, 
to receive the axe in her forehead ; how the children 
were hunted and murdered, and how in despair he 
finally drew the knife upon his own throat. Ah I now 
he appeared in the same shape as I saw him dying with 
his wound, and he was uttering the same oaths of 
blasphemy, and all the maledictions and curses seemed 
to be aimed at me. I saw that he must soon discover 
me ; for I had no cloak for my sins, and could not turn 
from his gaze. I saw by his ordering the fireman 
round the furnace, and by his directing the course of 
the engine, that he was tli« chief engineer of Ven- 
geance, and commissioned and supported by Law and 
Justice. I now saw ghastly forms, grim shapes, and 
howling fiends gathering round me • and they all had 
24 



278 RESISTING THE SPIRIT. 

javelins just ready to throw, and in a moment more 
their eyes must light on me. Though I could not 
hope to escape, it would be a satisfaction to make an 
effort ; therefore, when I saw the engine preparing to 
sound the charge, I started to run. At this moment 
the bloody victim on the engine discovered me, and 
with a shuddering howl that shook the whole region, 
he cried — ' Behold^ ye infernal Powers ! There is 
Lounsberrt/j the rumseller I Seize him and pierce him, 
all ye devils of hell I ' And with that, the whole air was 
filled with spears ; the whole region rung with shouts ; 
the engine sounded such a shrill, whistling, deafening 
roar, that I fell down, or rather rolled and fell from my 
bed upon the floor and awoke ; and surrounded by the 
darkness of the night, it was a long time before I could 
believe that I was not in a rumseller's hell." After re- 
lating the horrors of his conscience, and the story of 
the dream to his wife, he requested her to pray for him. 
She did not profess religion at the time, and could not 
pray; and as she had but little knowledge of spiritual 
things, she considered this but a freak of the imagina- 
tion, and with a few consoling words desired him to 
retire till morning. In the morning she found him sus- 
pended by the neck in the barn. A short time after, 
during a revival of religion, she was convicted of her 
own sins, and embraced religion. But she could never 
forgive herself for her neglect of him on that memora- 
ble night. 

RESISTING THE SPIRIT. 

After addressing the convicts in Sing Sing State 
Prison I informed them that such as were anxious for 



RESISTING THE SPIRIT. 279 

me to visit their cells, as they passed out, could leave 
their number with the Warden. One person was so 
anxious, and yet so fearful lest I should not have time 
to visit him, that he seemed almost distracted. When 
I approached his cell, he thrust his fingers as far through 
the grates as he could, to meet my hand, — then falling 
upon his knees, and striving to kiss my hand, the first 
words he uttered were : " My mother ! O my mother ! 
what will she say ? " He sobbed and cried for some 
time before I could hear any thing more. " Ah ! " said 
he, " that unbelief that you spoke of to-day has been 
my ruin. What might I have been if I had embraced 
religion? It was at a protracted meeting in a town 
in Maine, that I was upon the point of deciding my 
religious course for life. By the request and tears of 
my mother, I was almost persuaded to go to the anx- 
ious seat, when my companions, with whom I had one 
more engagement at a party, dissuaded me from the 
point, which was the turning point of my life. I prom- 
ised her that after one more jolly hour I would seek 
religion ; but no one covenanting to serve Satan first 
will be likely to seek the Lord afterwards. My convic- 
tions were distressing ; I could neither eat nor sleep, 
I could not enjoy the party, nor the society of my com- 
panions ; and I feared the meetings and a mother's 
face as I did the grave. From such an agony of mind 
I would have chosen relief in death ; but I was not pre- 
pared to die. I resolved to seek relief in travel ; and 
without apprising my mother or any of my friends, I 
went to the savings bank and got all the money I had, 
— some fifteen hundred dollars, — and started for Bos- 
ton. In Boston, I sought a physician ; but he was one 
of those spoken of in the Scriptures, as physicians of 



280 RESISTING THE SPIRIT. 

no value. He said that I was religiously affected, and 
advised me to read Theodore Parker's works, and 
those of Tom Paine. They brought me no relief; I 
only grew worse; and at last, to shake off my disagree- 
able feelings, I resorted to drinking and to gaming. I 
became delirious, and lost almost all my money. At 
times I would think of home, and resolve to go back 
and confess my guilt ; then I thought there could be no 
mercy for one who had done such despite to the Spirit 
of grace, so I wandered still further away. I spent all 
the money I had in getting to Worcester; then pawned 
my valise and part of my clothing to carry me still 
further on. At Springfield, I let go what clothing I 
could possibly spare, and went on foot. Finally, my 
wardrobe became so shabby that people would not 
receive me into their houses. Oh, how low I had fallen! 
I began to think of returning to Maine, but had no 
means and no friends. Still onward I v/ent, without a 
purpose or a place, only to forget the past, until I 
arrived at the banks of the Hudson. And here, as I 
stood, cold, hungry, and almost naked, I formed the 
desperate resolution to steal. I thought, by breaking 
into a store at Poughkeepsie, I would steal enough to 
bear my expenses home ; then ask my mother's forgive- 
ness, and strive to lead a different life ; and rather than 
to be caught, I would kill the first man that opposed 
me. Yet, oh, what a coward ! I broke in, but was no 
sooner in than taken, and taken without the least resist- 
ance. I felt so bad when I was entering the building, 
my conscience troubled me so, and I trembled so, that I 
was glad to be taken, and the officers seemed friends to 
me. And, afterwards, I was thankful that I was dis- 
covered, for if I had succeeded in my first attempt, there 



A CHILD^S ELOQUENCE. 281 

is no knowing where it might have ended. In this 
prison I have had time to read and reflect. I have ex- 
amined the truth of divine revelation, and have found 
it to be just the thing needful to my soul. In it I have 
seen the reasons for a mother's anxiety for my con- 
version ; and while praying in this cell, her shadow has 
many times appeared before me. Though it be in 
imagination, yet it has been a comfort to me, and I be- 
lieve it has been through her prayers that I have found 
peace in believing. I am thankful for the prison ; 
this punishment has been the means of saving my 
soul. For, ' before I was afflicted I went astray, but 
now I have kept thy word.' Now, in parting, I wish 
a favor of you ; and that is, that you will write to my 
mother, and not mail the letter at this place, lest some 
may suspect where I am. My mother has not heard 
from me since that night that she asked me to go for- 
ward for prayers. Tell her, that at such a time I shall 
land at New York a Christian man, and will immedi- 
ately repair for home." I mailed the letter at New 
York, according to directions ; and many times have I 
reflected upon that young man's career, and the danger 
of resisting the convictions of God's Spirit. 

A CHILD S ELOQUENCE 

It was on a cold wintry morning, while travelling in 
the northern part of the State of Connecticut, that I 
entered the dwelling of an intemperate man to get his 
name to the pledge. He treated me respectfully, 
appeared quite intelligent, and in his sober moments 
seemed very kindly disposed. However, he was set 
against signing the pledge ; he had covenanted with his 
24* 



282 A child's eloquence. 

companions never to do it. He had recently been on 
a spree ; and the bruises on his wife told but too well 
what might be her anxiety for his salvation from rum. 
I plead with him earnestly to pledge himself upon the 
question ; and stated, that with his companions a bad 
promise had better be broken than kept. He said that 
he never intended to drink any more, but he should 
live according to his promise, and never sign the pledge. 
I knew that unless he got publicly committed, and 
had his name go abroad upon the pledge as a tem- 
perance man, he could not continue long in absti- 
nence. I therefore, to awaken his feelings, began to 
talk of his family. Said I, " you must have a regard 
for your family, for your wife and child ; you must 
love those who appear before me so lovely. " Love 
them ! " said he ; " God knows my heart ; I do. If ever a 
man loved his family, I am the man ; and if ever there 
was a family worthy to be loved, it is mine ; yet, look ! 
look I on that shoulder of my wife, and see the bruises 
i;hat I have made. See how meekly she bears all this, 
and without a murmur. O sir, I shall never drink: any 
more!" " Then," said the wife, taking advantage of 
his feelings, as she came in suppliant tones before him, 
" then why not sign the pledge ?" " I have told you," said 
he, " that I have already pledged myself not to, and I 
shall keep my word." The firm tone in which he 
spoke, showed but too plainly the strength of his 
decision. It was a trying moment for that wife, and 
while I was still conversing with him, she retired 
behind him to the corner of the room, with much agi- 
tation of feeling. I saw her hands clasped, her eyes 
fixed on heaven, and her lips were moving ; yet I heard 
no sound. Oh, what a struggle was there in prayer I 



A child's eloquence. 283 

The happiness, and even the life of herself and child, 
seemed to hang upon the moment. Now, all broken 
down in spirit, and with the crystal pearls dropping 
from her eyes, — a wife's own eloquence, — she comes 
before him, and pleads again ; but again is refused. 
He was only irritated by the appeal, and seemed more 
averse to the pledge than ever. But God had chosen 
a more eloquent voice than hers to do the work. The 
little girl came flitting by, with ringlets flying and 
countenance all beaming with innocence, with confi- 
dence and with hope, and, climbing up into his lap, 
as if she had full command there, she threw her little 
tender arms around his neck, imprinted love's own 
kiss upon his pale cheek, and looking wistfully in his 
eye, as if she had something wonderful to tell him, and 
could not be resisted — " Father," said she, " the school 
children say I am a drunkard's child, and they wont 
play with me : what does it mean ? what is a drunk- 
ard's child ? Is it because I be a naughty girl ? Is it 
because mother has no other child ? Is it because the 
baby died, while you was gone so long, and mother 
was so sick, and I am left alone ? What makes them 
call me so ? Is it because you drink rum ? O father, 
sign the pledge, mother cry so ! She be so lame ; she 
feel so bad ! Then, O father, sign the pledge ! do 
sign I mother sign, Jennie sign, and father sign : you 
will sign, wont you, father ? " " Yes, yes ! " cried the 
father. " You shall no more be called a drunkard's 
child. Leap to my arms, my innocent! my darling! 
my angel ! you have saved your father ! He can never 
see you ragged in the streets, with none to play with 
you, while he spends his earnings for rum. He can 
never see you turned out of school, and abused for my 



284 BAD COMPANY. 

sake. No, I will not drink. No, never ! never ! never ! 
will I drink any more." He then took down his Bible, 
and fastened a pledge in it, and recorded with his own 
hand the three names, a triune of happy persons. Oh, 
how winning is the eloquence of a child ! 

BAD COMPANY. 

At the close of an address to the convicts of the 
South Boston Reform School, a boy begged of the Su- 
perintendent the privilege of conversing with me. His 
name was Thomas Walsh. Said he, " I am, not of that 
class of persons you speak of, who are neglected by 
parents, and schooled in vice. My father and mother 
were praying parents ; they had family prayers, morning 
and evening, and did all they could to educate me in 
the ways of religion. One year since they lived in 
Canada ; but as they were well to do in the world, for 
my education, they resolved to sell out and move to 
Boston, that I might have the advantages of a city 
education preparatory to going into business. As I 
entered school, being unacquainted with the reckless- 
ness of the city youth, I formed acquaintances with a 
number of truant boys. I did not know them to be 
such at the time, and as I found them always cheerful, 
lively, full of fun, and having plenty of money, I 
thought them excellent companions. I soon, however, 
found where they got their money. They stole it from 
bakers' wagons, and from milk carts, and stole keys 
from the doors, and cut pieces of copper from the water 
spouts, and in the attic of a dilapidated building they 
found an old man living who would give them a few 
cents for their plunder. By sporting \\dth them, at the 



BAD COMPANY. 285 

corners of the streets, I often became tardy, and soon 
caused the displeasure of my teacher, and learned to 
be a truant with them, and also to steal. My father 
heard of my truancy, and punished me ; but he knew 
not the depth of my crime. This only exasperated me, 
and I resolved that if I could not have my liberty, as 
other boys did, I would not go home at all. So, for 
two long weeks, I remained away from home, sleeping 
anywhere I could ; sometimes in the stables, and some- 
times in old casks upon the wharf, until my clothes 
became worn, filthy, and ragged, and I found the 
officers were upon my track. During that two weeks, 
my mother spent most of the time in walking the 
streets to find me, and employed several officers for 
that purpose. On a Sunday morning, when I stood 
alone upon Central Wharf, facing the east, I thought 
of ending my life. All was still around me, the sun 
was just rising, and as its beams came over the glit- 
tering tide, I thought, to hide my shame, I would 
plunge beneath the briny wave. I was hungry and cold, 
and had slept but little during the night. What could I 
do ? I could not live in this way. To go home I was 
ashamed ; yet I was unprepared to die. While thus 
musing I heard footsteps behind me. I dared not look 
back, I was so guilty. Nearer they came. I thought 
I knew the sound ; it was my mother I * O Thomas ! ' 
said she, 'how could you serve me so?' She fell 
upon my neck, and wept — wept long and loud, and her 
tears spoke louder than words. ' O my son, you will 
break your poor father's heart ; he has had no rest 
since you went away ; he has sighed and groaned all 
the night long, and felt that he wanted not to live I He 
will not punish you ; he only wants you to do well ; 



286 BAD COMPANY. 

he came to Boston for your sake alone, and desires to 
live only that you, his child, may be happy. Only tell 
him that you will try to do well, and he will certainly 
forgive you all.' I resolved to go home. I met my 
father, with his venerable locks dishevelled in sor- 
row, and his eyes and hands raised towards heaven, 
weeping bitterly. It was the first time in my life 
that I saw him cry. ' O Thomas,' said he, ' my son, 
my son, you will break your poor old father's heart! 
Oh, that I had not lived to see this day ! O my 
son, my property is yours, my prayers are for you, 
and my life is only for you ! Then tell me that you will 
leave this bad company. Oh, that we had never come 
to this city! Oh, tell me that you will now attend 
school, and it is enough! I will question you no 
further.' I pledged him that I would return, and 
vowed to him that that should be the last of my 
wanderings. But, as I entered school, I found that I 
was behind the class ; I had lost the confidence of my 
teacher, and my mind had become dissipated, so that 
it was hard to place it upon study. I struggled against 
many temptations and discouragements, and gained 
but little. I loved sports better than books, and soon 
became tired of study, and joined with the liveliest 
again. O sir, there is the boy [pointing to one of 
the convicts] that led me away the second time. I 
did not know him then, but afterwards learned that 
he had been several times in jail. I was late one 
morning — the school bell had rung. I met that boy 
and his truant companions ; we took a sail, and the 
rest need not be told. My mother came in haste one 
morning to my father, and said to him, ' Thomas is 
again in the hands of the officer ; you must go at once 



BAD COMPANY. 287 

and assist him, or he will go to prison.' * No,' said 
the old man, ' I shall not go. I have done what I 
could for him. I cannot witness the sight. I cannot 
see a son bearing my name held in chains, bolted 
behind bars of iron, and sentenced to the granite cell. 
You may go, mother, and do what you can for him ; 
but I feel faint, and will lie down till you come 
back." He laid down, but he never rose again. Fever 
came upon him, and delirium ; and his last breath was 
spent in uttering the name of his son. ' O Thomas,' 
said he, ' your poor father is sick ; he feels dizzy, and 
the room seems dark. I fear that I am not in my right 
mind. Why do you not come, as you used to do, and 
bring a light and read to me, and comfort me ? Your 
poor father is dying I ' Ah I he knew not what he 
said, and knew not that his son was beyond his hear- 
ing, and behind iron bars. In his delirium, and in his 
dying moments, he still called for his son, and rebuked 
him for not coming, and charged him with unfaithful- 
ness, and, as he rolled back for the last time his wild, 
delirious eye, ^Thomas! Thomas! Thomas I' w^ere 
the last words which he ever uttered. 

This is not all. Yesterday, my mother came to tell me 
of my father's death, and to bid me farewell, perhaps for- 
ever. She said that this wicked city had cost her so 
much anguish, she felt such a gloom cast over her, that 
she could stay no longer. She could not stay in sight of 
this prison and gaze upon its bolted windows, while 
the only object she had to live for was immured behind 
its walls. She was going back to our old homestead, 
on the banks of the St. Lawrence, and there, amid the 
flowers, where I sported with the school boys in my 
innocence, and on the green banks, and beneath the 



288 BAD COMPANY. 

shade where I learned my sabbath-school lessons, and 
by the little fruit-trees she planted for me — trees still 
living, growing and blooming — there she has gone, if 
it be possible, to forget her grief. ' O Thomas,' said 
she to me, * as we part, don't forget your prayers. 
My example is not what I wish it had been ; but if you 
forget your mother, and if you forget your poor, de- 
parted father, oh, do not forget your God ! He is 
merciful ; he will forgive you ; and if you will trust him, 
he will restore you to liberty and honor again ! ' And 
with floods of tears and sobbings, as if her heart would 
break, she gazed upon me, and kissed me, and em- 
braced me, and clung to my hands as if she could never 
leave me, until the keeper compelled us to part. Then, 
with a mother's tenderness, gazing upon me, perhaps 
for the last time, she looked upon me with a long, 
anxious, lingering look, and strove to say farewell. But 
the emotion of her feelings choked her utterance. Yet 
again she strove, and again failed to speak, until at 
last she covered her face, and weeping left me, perhaps 
never to see me again. Now, sir, the reason of my 
asking this privilege to talk with you is, that you may 
warn young persons against bad company. If I had 
never seen Boston, I might have been happy ; and if, 
after coming to this city, I had known how to resist 
temptation, and to keep aloof from bad company, I 
should not have been in prison. But God has heard 
my prayer, and, I trust, forgiven my sins. I hope, if I 
live to get out, that I shall profit by this dispensation 
of his providence, and be a better man. Oh, warn the 
young by my example, and tell them to avoid the first 
appearance of evil associates. The first step is the 
guilty step, and after once taken, the way to destruc- 



A mother's love. 289 

tion is easy. "Warn them against lingering at the 
corners of the streets with such — against listening to 
their jokes, or looking upon their sports. Alas! sir, 
like a wrecked vessel upon the strand, we can warn 
others when it is too late to profit by it ourselves." 



A mother's love. 



While visiting the almshouse at South Boston, I 
saw a person in whom was exhibited the undying 
attachment of a mother's love. She was a young, beau- 
tiful, and somewhat accomplished widow, whose hus- 
band had died in California. He was poor, all his 
means were required for the expenses of the voyage ; 
he had nothing to hope for, but fi'om the fate of for- 
tune, and his two hands ; and had nothing to leave her, 
but a good name and the pledge of his affection. 
Fatigue, exposure, and the malaria of a hostile climate, 
soon laid him in the grave, and she, in her sickness, 
having nothing further to hope from him, was con- 
veyed to the almshouse. Upon the return of her 
health, the bloom of her cheek, and the inexpressible 
loveliness of her form and temper, it was intimated to 
her, that if she could dispose of her child, by allowing 
some person who would care well for it to adopt it, 
she might better her situation. She at first refused 
to listen to the proposition ; but the arguments were 
strong in its favor. She was young, beautiful, and 
peculiarly attractive; the melancholy which sorrow 
had penciled upon her features, combined with her 
ardent temperament and amiable manners, and her 
unceasing devotion to the memory of her husband, 
rendered her doubly interesting. She could start anew 
25 



290 A mother's love. 

in life, and, profiting by past experience, she could see 
fairer prospects than ever for a respectable station. 
Besides, she had no means, by which she might com- 
fortably support or educate her child. It might be well 
situated, liberally educated, and prepared for more hap- 
piness and usefulness by leaving her. She therefore 
reluctantly allowed her child to be placed among 
others, as a candidate for adoption. The would-be 
sponsors arrived, and, as fate would have it, her child 
was chosen. The mother gazed with a jealous eye 
upon the strangers, as they passed back and forth, from 
one child to another, and trembled when their eyes 
were setting, more and more, upon the beautiful feat- 
ures of her love. A few days were left her before the 
child was to be taken, and these days were the shortest, 
the dearest days of her lifetime. The hours were 
counted, and the moments reckoned when she must 
forever part with this jewel of her soul. She untir- 
ingly gazed upon its features ; she saw the father's 
image and the pledge of a father's love. She printed 
her burning lip upon its cheek, pressed it tenderly to 
her bosom, and wept. She wept violently. And as 
the little innocent, startled by her tears and sobbings, 
looked up and seemed to say, " What ails you, mother ? " 
and nestled closer to her bosom, as if afraid of com- 
ing calamity, she loved it more and more. 

The appointed hour at length arrived, and a car- 
riage drove up. Now was the trying hour to her 
soul ; but lest her resolution should fail, she hurried 
away to prepare the child for the journey. " Is the 
chUd ready? " was asked, in the stern, coarse voice of 
the male visitor. " It will be, shortly," was the reply. 
That gruff inquiry reached the ear of the listening 



A mother's love. 291 

mother, and " Is the child ready ? " stirred up the 
well-springs of a mother's heart. Ready ? Ready for 
what ? Ready to bless the arms of another, — to call 
a stranger mother, — where its palpitating heart could 
no more beat by the side of hers, and yield sweetness 
to the midnight hour, — where that mother never could 
gaze upon its angelic features again, — where her very 
name and being must be forgotten. And what could 
she do when night comes again, and no child for her 
bosom ? There remains the cradle — the casket without 
the jewel ; and there the toys, but no Julia to play 
with them. Oh, how desolate must be those arms, how 
desolate that watchful couch, and how desolate and 
lone those almshouse walls, with no Julia there ! But 
if it must go, she would dress it for the journey in the 
best manner possible. All her treasures in the world 
would she give, not because the child might need 
them, but because they were a mother's offering, at the 
feet of a mother's idol. She had a few articles of 
fancy dress for it, which were the relics of her early 
fortune, and her husband's love. She kissed the child, 
and adorned it, and held it before the glass, and gazed 
upon its lovely blue eye and fascinating features by the 
side of her own. She gazed and wept. She wept 
over the last lingering look, the last embrace, and the 
last of its nestlings in her arms, and shed a flood of 
tears upon its little dimpled cheek, as if she could 
never come to the last. She seemed to have no soul 
or sense or feeling of her own ; but all was poured out 
without restraint, generous as the floods of heaven, upon 
that child. That her selfish and unfeeling soul might 
become generous, and her harsh nature tender, she had 
long prayed to be a mother. God heard her prayers, 



292 A MOTHER^S LOTE. 

and here was the invaluable gift of Heaven in her arms. 
She had never known the tenderest ties of nature, until 
now, — had never measured the store-house of its hid 
treasures, — had never fathomed the ocean of its deep 
love, — had never drank from its highest fountain, till 
when first she gazed upon her breathing infant ; and 
never before had she felt its priceless value as now. 
Nevertheless, brave as a hero, she determined to con- 
quer nature, to subdue her womanish feelings, to choke 
the fountain of her tears, and hide the agony of her 
spirit, under affected smiles of cheerfulness. She sud- 
denly clasps it to her arms, and wipes her tears, and 
hastens to present her child to the arms of the strangers ; 
yes, to turn off the child that had blest so many a 
weary hour to her, and made the night sweeter than 
the day, and poverty better than costly treasures, — the 
child that God had given her, as a jewel more precious 
than rubies, — the child with which God had blessed her 
above many an anxious wife ; — this pearl of purest trans- 
parency, she was now about to break from its parent 
shell, and give away as worthless. Ah ! that thought 
was too much for her; and as she came down-stairs, 
and the cherub innocent, as if afraid of falling, or of com- 
ing danger, put its little tender arms so sweetly around 
her neck, and darted the glance of its eyes, — those gems, 
those brilliants, — so deep to her soul, and returned 
her gentle kiss, with prattling talk, and, plainer than 
she had ever heard it before, strove to lisp the name of 
" mamma," — her courage wavered. And now, as the 
strange woman's arms were extended, and she was 
placing it into her lap, the child screamed out, and 
raised its little hands towards its mother, and cried, 
" mamma ! " " mamma ! " so piteously, that she flew to 



A mother's love. 293 

its arms, and swift as thought clasped it to her bosom, 
hugged it v/ith her might, and with dishevelled hair, and 
almost frantic with rage, cried, " Come to my arms, 
my Julia ! That cruel stranger shall not have thee! No ! 
you shall not be taken from these maternal arms ; you 
shall never call her ' mother.' God never blessed her 
with a mother's love, she is not worthy of the name; 
yet she would rob me, because of my poverty, and she 
would teach thee to love and bless her, and thou 
wouldst call her mother in heaven. No ! no! cling to 
my neck, my dearest Julia ; you have but one mother, 
and she is thine forever. They say I can get a living 
much easier, if I let you go. No ! I can work harder 
by your side. I can dart like the light of the morning, 
and sing the hours away when you are with me, and 
all the live-long day, you will relieve my toils ; and 
when night comes, with your heart to mine, you make 
the sweetness of my rest a heaven to my soul. No ! 
I will not let thee go. They say I can better my con- 
dition and make my fortune by parting with thee ; but 
the whole world has no such fortune as thou art. And 
with the whole world at my command, I should be 
poor without thee. No I hang upon these arms, dearest 
daughter ! So long as these arms can work, and these 
skin-dried bones can earn a morsel of food, you shall 
have it ; and your pale mother shall look on and sat- 
isfy her appetite by feeding upon the sight. Let those 
be mothers whom God makes mothers, and let no 
other crave so glorious a gift ! Come to my arms, 
my love, my jewel, my gem, the fairest pearl of ocean, 
the idol of my heart, the rapture of my soul, God's 
last, best gift, to a widowed wife ! No, never ! never ! 
25* 



294 MARY IN prison; or, 

NEVER ! will I part w'ith thee, so long as these lungs 
can breathe the name of Julia. With that, she flew 
away up-stairs with her treasure in her arms, still to 
enjoy the sweets of a mother's love. 

MARY IX PRISON ; OR, THE DRUNKARd's DAUGHTER. 

After preaching to the male prisoners of the Con- 
necticut State Prison, I was invited to pray with those 
of the female department. As they were entering the 
room, and passing the dim lights of the grates, with 
their eyes turned towards the ground, not allowed to 
look up, I saw a countenance which struck me wdth 
unusual interest. In her features, though pale and 
wan, and though she was dressed in the prison garb, I 
saw a form which I recognized as one of my pupils — 
one that used to join me in the prayers of the school- 
room. I remembered the light blue eye and rosy 
cheek, the lovely features and amiable disposition, 
the smiles of the days of her innocence. She was 
beautiful, and, to the poor children, she was exceed- 
ingly kind. Many a time has she divided her scanty 
meal with them, and given them of her writing paper, 
and ministered to their wants by all the means in her 
power. Many a cold morning witnessed her kindness 
and sympathy for them, in meeting them at the door, 
in brushing the snow from their feet, and leading them 
to the fire, and warming their chilled fingers with her 
lips. And many a cold, broken-hearted, innocent little 
child, far from a mother's care, w^hile being relieved 
of its sufferings, has found the kisses of her kind- 
ness better than gold. She was of rare beauty and 
attractions, and little did I think that this would 



THE drunkard's DAUGHTER. 295 

be her fate. In the prison I joined in the same prayer 
that we used in the school-room ; and perhaps she knew 
not the stranger of that sabbath-day, unless by his 
voice in prayer. I visited her mother. At my first 
appearance she burst into a flood of tears, and the 
first word she spoke was " Mary ! " But her voice 
faltered, she could speak no further, and sobs and 
groans told the rest. " ^lary," she said, after recover- 
ing a little, " Mary is gone. She is not here, and she has 
not gone to the grave. If she had died, and died in 
innocence, what a consolation it had been to me I But 
she is worse than dead — she is disgraced forever. Oh, 
could I go to yonder graveyard, where her father lies, 
and where her innocent little brother sleeps, and plant 
flowers over her tomb, and feel that she had died inno- 
cent and with a hope of heaven, I would be thankful ! 
Oh, what a comfort it would be for me to sit by her 
tomb in a sabbath's twilight, amid autumn's fall- 
ing leaves, and watch the fading flowers, and feel, as 
they would bloom again in the spring, so she might 
rise in the resurrection. Oh, INIary, my own dear Mary 
was too good a child to be lost I Seldom did I wit- 
ness a fit of bad temper, or hear an unkind word 
fi-om her until a short time before she left home. And 
even then, how kind to me ! how attentive to her dying 
father! but oh, how cruel to herself I The intemper- 
ance and sickness of my husband made us poor, and I 
was obliged to go out by days' work, washing, for his 
support. While I was away, two fishermen bribed her 
father with rum. He sold her innocence, and lived to 
see her ruin. With these fishermen she went ofl* in 
the night ; she cooked the fowls of their stealing ; and 
while they escaped to their boats, she was taken to prison. 



296 MAEY IN prison; or, 

This is not all. The landlord warned me out of this 
house — the heritage of my father. I saw the stern look 
— there was no mercy in his eye. Oh, rum I rum ! 
what has it not done ? It has murdered my husband, 
ruined my family, robbed me of my home, and turned 
me out upon the cold charities of the world. But, even 
now, if I had my Mary left, it would repay me for all my 
afflictions. Oh, if these faltering feet, weary with the 
fatigues of a long day's journey, could find my Mary 
here, my weariness would flee away! Oh, if these 
hands, worn to the quick, and blistered, could em- 
brace my Mary, I would meet all my troubles willingly 
without a murmur ! Oh, if she could kneel, as at former 
times, and call God's blessings down upon this poor, 
•unworthy flesh, and if her heart, in the night season, 
could once more beat in unison with mine, my poverty 
and suffering would be nothing! But she is too far away 
for these hands to reach her ; too far for these feet to 
find her ; and too deep in the cell to fill my lonely couch 
again. A few days before she went, seeing how I was 
afflicted, she said, * Mother, be not over anxious. You 
shall not want, you shall not suffer; while I live, I will 
be your help.' Alas! for her, poor girl, she cannot 
help herself! O Mr. Morgan, it don't seem possible 
that a pupil who spoke so much of you, — who held so 
deep an interest in your affections, — who was such a 
favorite among her classmates, — one so young, so 
beautiful, so amiable, — can it be possible that she is 
now guarded by cruel soldiers, housed by stone cells, 
secured by iron grates, feeding on a convict's fare, and 
sleeping on the hard pallet of the prison." I left her, 
determined to devote my life to the cause of suffering 
humanity. Wishing to learn how many had filled the 



THE drunkard's DAUGHTER. 297 

prisons by the intemperance and crimes of their parents, 
I visited the prisons and reform schools of Boston 
and New York and Philadelphia, and the prisons and 
almshouses in various parts of the United States and 
Canada, and presented my observations in public 
lectures. I have seen Maine Laws enacted ; and tem- 
perance jubilees and celebrations; but alas I the evil 
continues ! Rum runs riot ; children are trained in 
iniquity, and schooled in crime! How long, O Lord! 
how long ? 



MINISTERIAL NOTES. 



As I took the houses in course, in visiting at West- 
erley, R. I., I called at a splendid mansion. Servant 
came to the door. I asked, " Is the family at home ? " 
" Yes, sir," she replied. " Go and tell them that if they 
will allow me, I have come to pray with them." She 
soon came back and informed me that " the family 
were not at home." 

Asked a man, " Will you allow me to pray in your 
house ? " " No," said he. " You want to dupe me with 
priestcraft. There is no God to hear your prayers ; do 
you take me for a confounded fool? " " Oh, no," I re- 
plied ; " I hope you may never become a fool, for the 
fool hath said in his heart, There is no God." So 
bowing politely, I left him. 

Called at the house of an old man, asked him the 
privilege of praying. " Yes ! " said he, with empha- 
sis ; " you may pray as much as you d n please ; 

but I sha'n't stay to hear you." And with that he 
slammed the door, and without his hat, ran into the 
street, then down into the cellar, and rattled among 
the barrels ; but he could not flee from God, nor the 
word of his power. He was an old backslider ; and 
thus to be suddenly approached, made him half crazy. 
But he could not avoid listening ; the Spirit of God 

298 



MINISTERIAL NOTES. 299 

got hold of his heart, and brought him back to his 
Father's house again. 

Called on a family and asked if any person had been 
to my meeting ? An old Baptist lady cried out very 
angrily — " Yes I I did go one night, and if I had 
gone again I should have lost all the religion that I 
ever had." " What ! madam ! " said I ; " that is im- 
possible ! You cannot be a Calvinist then. If you are 
one of the elect, a little noise cannot make you apos- 
tate ; it is said that none shall pluck them out of his 
hand, not even the Devil himself; and I cannot be 
worse than the Devil." Then I prayed with the family, 
and especially for the old lady. Poor woman I She 
was all broken down, she asked my forgiveness, and 
prayed that the Lord might bless my labors. One 
person from that family experienced religion that same 
night. 

Entered a house when a young woman cried out — 
" O sir, last night in meeting your language broke 
my heart." ''Ah! madam, indeed I Why I didn't 
know that you had any heart, your actions seemed so 
heartless." " O sir I you was so personal ! I am ready 
to die ! " " I am glad if you are ready," said I, " for 
I thought you unfit last night." She found there was 
no use in parleying in this way; she confessed her 
sins and cried for mercy. Oh, many such need bow- 
ing by the law, crushing to the very earth, before the 
Heavenly Physician will heal them. 

"Ah, me!" says one, " they will think that I have 
no religion." " And," said I, " is it not true ? " " O 
sir, you will drive me to despair! " " Just what I want. 



300 THE CONVERTED CATHOLIC. 

madam ! Despair drives out your cursed pride. Christ 
pities the tears of penitence, but has no fellowship with 
the haughtiness of pride.'' "Well," said she, " I know 
that I have a proud heart, and I hope it may be sub- 
dued. And though professing religion I am far from 
God, and pray the Lord to forgive." 

THE CONVERTED CATHOLIC. 

Called at Mystic, Ct., on a converted Catholic, 
whose name was Mary, and whose experience was of 
some interest. She formerly lived in a Protestant 
family, and wanted very much to learn to read. She 
promised, if they would assist her in learning to read, 
that she would read the Bible. This she did simply 
to learn to read ; — not to read the Bible, for she believed 
the Protestant Bible the text-book of the Devil. How- 
ever, she could indulge in the sin for the sake of learning, 
as confession and penance would cost less than learning 
to read. She read until she came to the Psalms ; and 
in them she saw such a description of her own wicked 
heart, and felt such a mysterious spell come over her, that 
she threw down the Bible, and believed, in truth, that 
it was the work of the Devil. She seized it and threw it 
down again, and cursed it, and finally hid it, calling on 
all the saints for imprecations upon it, burying it so deep 
that his Satanic majesty might never find it, to torment 
her soul. She went on foot many miles to confess 
and do penance, and again and again confessed, but 
found no relief. Finally, there was a prayer-meeting 
at the house where she lived, and as she could not run 
away, she resolved to stop her ears. But something 
made her hands fall from her ears, a fly lighted on her 



THE CONVERTED CATHOLIC. 301 

nose or the baby squalled, or a forestick or something 
tumbled ; she was compelled to hear. " Hear ye I hear 
ye the word of the Lord ! " rung in her ears. She felt 
greatly distressed and cried for mercy. But she found 
no peace until she went and obtained her Bible from its 
hiding-place, and made up her mind that she would read 
it, if the priest killed her. She could not be in worse 
torment, and death would be a relief to her. She 
opened at the fifty-first Psalm : " Create in me a clean 
heart, O God ; and renew a right spirit within me. 
Cast me not away from thy presence ; and take not 
thy Holy Spirit from me." She fell upon her knees, 
and prayed. She prayed long and loud, until she 
found peace; and oh, the joy of her soul in believing! 
She grasped her Bible, and clasped it to her bosom and 
kissed it and wept over it, and felt that she could never 
love it enough for teaching her the way of salvation. 
And such language in describing the ecstacy of her joy, 
I never before heard from mortal. Her figures of speech 
were not taken from books ; were simple, artless, as 
if inspked by the Spirit. For an hour and a half I sat 
and heard that^simple-hearted woman relate her ex- 
perience. I will not attempt to give much of her 
language ; I could not catch the winged words, nor 
mark down the strong, pungent, burning figures of her 
speech. The gems of ocean, the sea of glass, and the 
crystal walls of glory, were all placed under tribute to 
describe the experience of a poor, unlettered Catholic. 
I thought. Can any one doubt the truth of God's 
word in this case ? She had resorted to every expedi- 
ent, in order to evade its power ; but it was sharper 
than a two-edged sword, and would give her no peace 
until she found it in Jesus. And where could she get 
26 



302 THE CONVERTED CATHOLIC. 

such language ? The truth is, she needed but a few 
shadowy outlines, a few texts from Scripture, and the 
filling up was by faith. Naturally of a fiery temper- 
ament, a strong imagination, and taking her images 
from the most tangible objects, the Holy Ghost made 
her eloquent. " O my Jasus ! " said she, " no praste 
in the world can forgive like Jasus. I's paid the praste 
much money ; but Jasus forgives for nuthin. Glory 
ba to his name. Oh, the dapthe of his goodness ; oh, 
the raches of his grace ! I is floatin on the ocean of 
his love. These worldly shores depart further and 
further from me, I cut the last line that holds me to 
arth, and I swim in the raver of God's pleasure. Far 
down the dape I seed the pearls ; they were all full of 
eyes looking love. Round my ears rolled the swate 
waters of salvation ; over my head shined the glory 
of his countenance; and 'way up above I seed the 
pearly gates of the New Jarusalem. Oh, the ocean of 
his glory ! Oh, the swate waters of his love. Glory ! 
glory! glory!" She clasped her hands as her face 
lighted up with gladness, and continued — " Could it 
be that Jasus would condescend to notice ma, a poor 
worm of the dust, a poor Irish woman ? And will he 
not turn ma off when Christians have no charity for ma, 
and have thought ma thrunk ? Oh, praise him, praise 
him, O my soul, and all that is within ma, praise his 
holy name ! " But Mary had her trials. The priest 
came to baptize a child in another part of her house ; 
she could not escape him, neither did she wish to. 
"With her experience she was enough for a thousand 
priests. He stood over her with horsewhip in hand, 
and shook it in her face, and said : " Beware of her ! 
beware of her ! She hath a devil. See her rave ! A curse 



CHARLIE IN HEAVEN. 303 

is upon her and her children. A great calamity will 
befall her ; she will die and have no burial ; and no priest 
will pray for her." "Nather," said she, "will any 
praste horsewhip ma in my own house. Ya has had 
much money for pardons, but ya cannot have another 
five dollars from ma." So the priest troubled her no 
more. Soon after this she married a man who was in- 
temperate, and who opposed her in religion, and who 
waited late at night for her coming from meeting, to 
abuse and threaten her. But she had an exceedingly 
happy faculty of repelling him ; for the moment she 
entered the house and he began to storm, she fell right 
down upon her knees before him, and closing her eyes 
in prayer, with clasped hands, cried mightily to God for 
" help! help ! help ! " That would silence him. He was 
alarmed when the Almighty was invoked for "help;" 
and the next that was seen of him, he would be lean- 
ing towards the chamber-door, crying, " I do wish you 
would stop your confounded noise; you are crazy! 
the devil is in you I " and off to bed he would go, fill- 
ing the stair way with doleful mutterings as he went. 
They are now both professors ; have a very comfortable 
place of their own, and live happily. But Christians 
of stiff formality and aristocratic pride, will scarcely 
allow her to speak in meeting, though her experience 
in the deep things of God is far superior to that of 
most of them. 

CHARLIE IN HEAVEN. 

Prayed in a family, where a youthful mother was 
holding in her arms her first-born. She was proud of 
her treasure, and so engrossed with its attention that 



304 MINISTERIAL NOTES. 

she could think of but little else. She had professed 
religion, and her husband was a praying man ; but now 
the object of her worship was dancing in her lap. In 
vain did she strive to look upward; she could not 
disguise the fact — her idol was below. When we spoke 
of the love of Christ, she would look on little Charlie ; 
when we sung, her chief object was to see whether he 
noticed it ; and when we prayed, her thoughts could 
not go above the earth. True, she could sing psalms, 
but it was for his amusement; she could talk of love, but 
it was love to the child, not to God ; and she could 
kneel, but it was at the cradle instead of the altar. 
And as to talking in meetings, she believed that St. 
Paul was right in ordering the women to keep silent 
in the churches. In short, she could talk happily, and 
laugh and sing, but she could not pray. There was 
no need of praying ; she seemed to have nothing to 
pray for ; all that she wanted she had, and all that she 
could have besides would be worth nothing. So she 
was very indifferent about religion, and could trifle a 
little, and indulge in a joke about professors. She 
thought if all the professors in the world were as good 
and pure as her baby was, they would all be saved at 
last, and go right straight to heaven, and no mistake. 
After this, I saw her in meeting. She was dressed in 
mourning ; and her little Charlie was no more. By a 
single stroke, without an hour's warning, he had been 
taken, and was not, for God took him. What a change 
in that woman! Ah! she could speak in meeting 
now, she could not keep silent, the crushed flower 
could give forth its odor, and the pine-tree could sing 
in the winter's wind. " I am so unworthy," she cried ; 
then she closed her hands together, and sobbed and 



MINISTERIAL NOTES. 305 

groaned, but she could speak no further. Again she 
cried, after recovering a little, " I had an idol that stood 
between me and my Saviour, and the Lord took it. 
I am so unworthy — unworthy to live. The Lord gave, 
and the Lord taketh away; blessed be the name of 
the Lord. I was not fit to have so choice a treasure. 
It was too pure for so sinful a mother. As I saw it, 
when dying, raise its little eyes and its little hands, and 
look so wistfully, as it was going, going far from me, 
I thought of the story you told about a lamb. A sheep 
had wandered with her lamb away from the fold, and 
the farmer could not drive her back. After much fruit- 
less running, he succeeded in catching the lamb, but 
not the sheep. He seized the lamb and held it in his 
bosom. The sheep ran away a few rods, but miss- 
ing her lamb, she returned, bleating. The farmer turned 
towards the fold and the sheep followed. Nearer and 
nearer she came, looking up to him, and bleating des- 
perately, until she followed him within the fold into 
the yard, and under the sheltering roof. This has been 
my case. While blessed with my little one I wan- 
dered from the fold. I grieved the Good Shepherd 
much by my wanderings. At last he took my little 
lamb to his bosom to bring me back. When it was 
going I thought how ungrateful I had been. I am 
now left desolate, and I want to follow my little 
Charlie to heaven. I can almost see him standing at 
the windows of heaven to beckon me home. There, 
he smiles as he used to do, and claps his little hands 
when he sees me coming. O my little Charlie! I 
come ! I come I " 



26* 



306 GIVING UP ALL FOR CHRIST. 



GIVING UP ALL FOR CHRIST. 

Called at a poor-house in Troy, N. Y., and found a 
woman dying. She had once experienced religion, 
but had lost the evidence. I prayed with her, but 
failed to assist her in making God's promises her 
own. She doubted, and even despaired. I read and 
prayed and sung, but all to no purpose. The wing of 
her faith would not mount upward, it was tied below. 
I stated that she must have some idol that she would 
not give up for Christ — something that she loved more 
than him. She replied, " What can I have ? I am 
poor. I have nothing in this world. Even this bed 
and the clothes I have on are not my own. I have 
nothing that I can call my own. Why then am I not 
blessed ? " At this moment a little child came prattling 
into the room, with string and stick and hobby horse. 
He was just beginning to lisp the name of mother. A 
flash came over her countenance as she gazed upon the 
dear object of her love. There was her idol. She had 
one object to live for, and she could not be resigned to 
die. That child was fatherless, and soon must be de- 
prived of its only friend. Could that mother leave it? 
And now it dropped its playthings, and climbed upon 
the bed, and laid its little head upon the same pillow, 
and flung its little tender arms around her neck, and 
printed the pure warm kiss upon her cheek, and prattled 
gently, " Mamma be so sick ! mamma die I " The poor, 
pale, dying mother threw her attenuated arms around 
it, and sobbing, cried, " No, my little Johnny, mamma 
cannot die ; you would have no mother." Then, 
exhausted, she laid it upon the pillow, and gazed into 
its bright blue eyes, as they were looking back into 



GIVING UP ALL FOR CHRIST. 307 

hers, and there she gazed and gazed, as if she would 
drink in its spirit by looking. She seemed unwilling 
even to move her eyes from the eyes of her darling, fear- 
ing to break the spell. There, gleaming from those 
little orbs, was the image of the father — the father that 
had been suddenly carried to his grave. And, there 
were the features of purity and innocence, and, as to 
actual transgression, pure as a snow-flake just from 
heaven. And could she leave that child to the cold 
charities of the world? — to the stranger, who would 
abuse it, starve it, whip it, with no mother to take its 
part ? She could not die ; she must not die. No ! no ! 
she could not give up all for Christ. Others were 
allowed to live, who had no children ; and others could 
leave friends and patrimony to their children if they 
died. But her child could have nothing left without a 
mother — its mother was its all. And the little inno- 
cent seemed to drink in of the mystery, as it kept so still, 
and gazed so intently on the suffused features and des- 
pairing countenance of that dying mother. What the 
mother could mean it could not understand ; but the 
charm of the excitement kept it still as a stone. I 
asked the mother if she was aware of her condition, 
and that she must certainly die. " The Lord will 
take care of your child ; he will be a Father to the 
fatherless ; food will he be to the hungry, and garments 
to the naked. He will be a Friend to the friendless ; 
and we are to trust him with all that we have. Trust 
him, trust him, is the chief command." She turned 
her face to the wall, and she prayed. She prayed 
silently, but long; and, judging by the quivering of the 
lip and the flashes and shadows that came over her 
features, she was excited to no common emotion. Her 



308 MINISTERIAL NOTES. 

eyes were closed, and, in the dark gloom of God's 
mysterious providence, she was looking for a ray of 
hope. Could she turn her eyes from the child? Could 
she see through the mystery, and could she trust 
Heaven with her treasure ? She prayed that she might 
— that she might give up all for Christ, and bless 
the rod that smote her. She uttered no sound save 
whispering sighs, for the Spirit was interceding with 
groanings that could not be uttered. At last, with her 
eyes and hands extended towards heaven, she cried, " I 
yield I I yield I " and in a moment her countenance lit 
up with joy, and she clapped her hands and said, " Oh, 
the joys of believing 1 Oh, the love of Jesus ! If I had 
a score of children I would give them all for Jesus! 
She died very happy, trusting her only earthly care in 
the hands of her Jesus. 

Called on a Congregational family. Asked a young 
lady if she spoke in our last conference meeting. " No," 
said she ; " I did not ; and I shall not. I will not 
stay in another conference meeting if you call on me." 
"Very well," said I; "when the time comes for you to 
speak, I will pass you by; and when I say "the next, 
the next," w^hen your turn comes, I will say " the next 
but one." But when she saw others speaking nearer 
and nearer to her, and feeling that she had been con- 
sidered one of the most pious of the neighborhood, and 
now the Lord called for his witnesses, her Congrega- 
tional scruples began to waver ; and every time " the 
next, the next," was spoken, it became an arrow to 
her conscience, until at last, fearing " the next but one " 
would come to her, she tremblingly arose before the 
time, without waiting for the call, and related her relig- 



MINISTERIAL NOTES. 309 

ious experience in a most affecting manner. She con- 
sented to be a leader of the young ladies' meeting, and 
for one whole year she kept the band together, with- 
out the assistance of church organization or preacher. 
Young ladies are not the most stable persons in the 
world, when surrounded by fashion and frolic ; and it 
is surprising how one young lady, without any human 
authority, or guardian elder's assistance, could wield 
such an influence over them as to persuade them to 
forego the pleasures of the world for the circle of 
prayer. Oh, how much of such talent now lies buried, 
that might be exerted for good ! 

Called on a poor colored man, who was living in a 
small cellar alone. He was cooking his scanty meal; 
and with his Bible on his knees, was feeding upon the 
word at the same time. Oh, how glad he appeared to 
see me ! I read and prayed and sang with him, and 
talked of the love of a blessed Saviour, till our souls 
were greatly blessed, and we parted in tears. In the 
evening meeting, the old man was so full of the sancti- 
fying power, that he could hardly speak. He told the 
audience that a minister had come to visit a poor 
colored man, and he felt it was as an angel of God 
that had come beneath his roof. He felt so grateful, 
so humble, so unworthy, and yet so happy, he could not 
tell it ; but said when he came along to meeting, the 
rocks and trees and winds and the waves of the river 
all seemed to be clapping their hands and singing 
praises to the Lord. He sobbed a while, and then, with 
his hands clenched, looking upward, he cried out, " Oh, 
dat bressed Jesus ! dat dear Sabiour ! dat took pity on 
poor me ! He be so forgibin, so lubin to de poor col- 



310 MINISTERIAL NOTES. 

ored man, so condescending to notice a poor worm. 
Oh, shout, all ye angels! and clap your hands, ye saints! 
for de Lord he be good, and his mercy enduref foreber!" 

Called on a poor man, who with his decrepit wife 
were sitting round the stove, weeping and lamenting 
over the loss of their only son. The son was a captain 
of a vessel » — a pious man, and the only support of his 
parents in their old age. News had just come that he 
had died at sea. The old man said to me, " Welcome! 
sir ; you are welcome here. I am near my grave. Let 
me hear of another country. My John was my staff 
and my support; but he is gone. My poor wife could 
once help me in my infirmity, but now she cannot help 
herself. This old cane was once a prop to my totter- 
ing feet ; but now I cannot walk. I have leaned upon 
the arm of my John ; but now that arm is broken." 
Then raising his watery eyes towards heaven, and with 
a trembling hand stretching out his cane, he said, 
" Ah ! I have no staff but Jesus ! And though he slay 
me yet will I trust in him. The Lord gave, the Lord 
taketh away ; blessed be the name of the Lord." 

Called on a poor widow, who had just lost both of 
her sons at sea. One of them had died with the fever ; 
and the other going on board to bring the vessel into 
port, took the fever and died also. Such weeping, 
such heart-bursting grief, none but a poor, lone, and 
desolate mother can imagine. After praying with her, 
she told me that she wanted to make an offering to, the 
Lord ; the affliction was hard, but she was such a 
sinner that she had been unworthy of two such noble 
boys. She felt forebodings, before this, that the Lord 



MINISTERIAL NOTES. 



311 



would take them away, and should then have renewed 
her covenant, and lived more faithfullj\ She held a 
quarter of a dollar in her hand till it was covered with 
tears ; and after recovering her speech she said, " I 
know that this will be of but little service to you, but 
it will be a relief to me to give an offering to the Lord; 
it is all I have got, — it is the widow's mite." And 
shaking with sighs, and shuddering with giief, she 
placed in my hand the tear-stained offering, saying, 
" The Lord bless you ; the Lord bless you ; may your 
poor mother never feel the loss that I suffer." 

Found an old lady, knitting by the fire, mourning 
over the loss of her son, who had died out West. The 
son was ambitious to make a fortune; and he was 
quite successful until sickness came. Then he thought 
of his mother ; and of his father, who was a deacon ; 
and desired to come home. He could not die — must 
not die without seeing home. I read the letter which 
he dictated while sick. " O my father!" said he, " I 
am sick, and desired to come home. I cannot be 
sick here, — I have no mother. Father, I must come 
home ; indeed I must." The physician, however, would 
not allow the undertaking. The young man plead, 
but in vain. Finally he said, " Let me get up and 
look towards home. " They told him if he did, he 
could not walk ; he would fall. " Oh," said he, " let 
me try, and let me fall, if I may only fall towards 
home I " As might be expected, such news was a ter- 
rible blow to the mother. She received the news of 
his sickness about the time of his death. And the 
only legacy worthy to leave his mother was his bones. 
So he ordered them to be disjointed and sent home, to 



312 MINISTERIAL NOTES. 

be buried in the family burying ground. Her pilgrim- 
age to the graveyard was frequent ; her lamentations 
were excessive, and her weeping knew no bounds. 
She asked if I was not in want of something that she 
could give me. I told her — Nothing. She said she 
desired, for my poor mother's sake, to do something 
for me. " Oh," said she, " you must not stay away so 
long from your mother! She wants to see you; she 
watches for your coming; her imaginings are turned 
towards you in the twilight, and you are uppermost in 
her prayers ; you must go and see her." 

Called at a low shanty beneath the bank by the side 
of the road. The shanty was built of a few boards and 
slabs, without a window, covered with brush and turf, 
and with an old blanket for a door.» The snow was 
on the ground without, and on the bed and scanty fur- 
niture within. The mother and the two children were 
in bed to keep from freezing. The children nestled 
towards each other ; then strove to see which could 
keep the stillest, to drive the cold away. But their 
hunger would rouse them up ; for fasting people cannot 
sleep much ; and they would weep for bread until they 
wept themselves to sleep, but they could feed their 
hunger only with dreams. The mother turned her 
wild, despairing eye towards me, as if astonished that 
anybody should enter such a dwelling. When she 
saw that I came in kindness — " God be praised," she 
said, " that his messenger has found me out ! I thought 
I had been forsaken of God and man. We have been 
turned into the street, and sought this shelter for a few 
days. My oldest daughter is in the Connecticut State 
Prison, my two children are starving, and my husband 



MINISTERIAL NOTES. 313 

is away, drunk. Little did I think of this when I left 
my father's house. What ruin has rum wrought ? 
What will it not do ? Heaven only knows what I have 
suffered. Oh, it would be a relief for me to die, if it 
were not for these children ! " When I heard her pitiful 
story, and saw her forlorn condition, I could not refrain 
from weeping. " O my God!" I cried, "is there no 
eye to pity the drunkard's children ; no ear to hear 
their cry, and no hand to save ? Look down in mercy, 
if there be mercy in store for such poor pitiful mortals, 
and pity the needy. Be a father to the fatherless, a 
husband to the widow, a protector to the defenceless, 
and a support of the hungry poor." I interceded for 
her, and the town authorities took her in charge, while 
yet her husband was away upon his drunken spree. 

While addressing the soldiers at Plattsburg barracks, 
I had occasion to speak of a poor widow in the alms- 
house, who was deprived of her reason on account of 
her son. At the close of the service, one of the sol- 
diers, a young man, came to me in deep emotion, and 
with streaming eyes, said — " O sir, is my mother yet 
alive ? I have broken her heart. I am the wild boy 
that has caused all her sufferings. I have since re- 
pented of my sins, and trust I have been forgiven. 
But as I have enlisted I cannot see my mother nor 
soothe her wandering mind. I believe it is through her 
prayers that I have been converted, though she may 
never be conscious of it. The distress she exhibited 
when I was about leaving home, haunted me in every 
step I took. Her tears, her prayers, her distracted 
features, never left me till I found my Saviour. I was 
fearful she might come to an untimely grave. Oh, that 
27 



314 THE HYPOCHONDRIAC. 

I could see her ! Oh, that I could pray at her feet ! Go, 
sir, and tell her that her son is alive, and a Christian ; it 
may relieve her mind." I went, and took a little Testa- 
ment to her with his name written in it by himself, 
and presented it to her. But she gazed on it, and then 
on the wall, and muttered incongruous sounds, but 
could not be restored. Oh, how careful ought a way- 
ward son to be, if only on a mother's account ! 

THE HYPOCHONDRIAC. 

Reader I were you ever troubled with the hypo, — 
the regular, genuine kind, — the real quintessence of 
gloom, — the double, confounded shades of melan- 
choly, — the deep down, fathomless, chaotic abyss 
of — of — well, I don't know what to call it? I once 
saw a true specimen, a real representation, in the per- 
son of a man in Plattsburg poor-house. The gloomy 
man was determined to die. He wasn't going to live 
another hour, no how. There was no use in breathing. 
Breath must stop, should stop, did stop. Then, strange 
to say, it started again. To stir, would be instant 
death. A wink, a look, a hit, or a kick, would destroy 
the charm, break the spell, snap his heart-strings, and 
smash the pitcher of his existence all to pieces. Oh, 
the charm of the submundane revery ! To feed on 
gloom as on a roast turkey ; to dig up the wet locks 
of melancholy, as you would clams ; to dive into the 
ocean of blues, to find the pearl of pevishness ; to 
gaze on vacancy till you become silent as a tombstone; 
to fall into complete-give-up-don't-care-sort-of-ism. 
This man couldn't live if he would, wouldn't live if he 
could. He was dying, dying, dying, dead I Yet, won- 
derful to tell, still he breathed. To stir him would be 



THE HYPOCHONDRIAC. 315 

sacrilege, and deserving of endless punishment. Oh, 
how solemn every thought ! It would be the height of 
wickedness to smile in his presence. All his reveries 
were solemn as eternity, and all his predictions must be 
true as the Gospel. No sin was so great as a smile ; 
no unbelief so heinous as to doubt his predictions. 
To smile at such a solemn thing! — a man dying! 
Oh, the depth of wickedness ! Though he had been 
two years about it, yet this inust be the time, this 
the certain hour, and no mistake. He could already 
feel the shades come over him, and the shroud to 
cover him ; could hear the grating of the coffin, as it 
moved along on the floor ; could already see himself 
laid in the box, and could see the mourners stand- 
ing all round him. Yet, strange to say, they would 
not sigh nor weep. Plague take the mourners ! they 
weren't fit to have a man die in their presence. The 
keeper could not reason with him, nor make him rise 
from the bed. The only logic available, was to pull 
the bed clothes from him in a cold morning, and tum- 
ble him on the floor. That would break the spell ; he 
would give up at once, and cry — " There, I snumb ! I 
told you so ! I'm dead ! I'm dead ! booho ! booho ! " 
and in a few minutes would get up and feel better, and 
go to work. Nothing could completely cure him ; his 
melancholy was constitutional, and had become a 
seated disease. Had he been a politician, he would 
have declared that he stood in the last days of his 
country's glory. As a religionist, he would have 
watched for the world to come immediately to an end. 
As a speculator, he would have hung himself at the 
fall of stocks. As a pauper, perhaps he may live the 
longest, enjoy himself the best, and trouble mankind 
the least with his idiosyncrasies. 



316 THE FASTING MAN. 



THE FASTING MAN. 



Called on the fasting man. Heard that he had 
fasted forty days; did not at first believe it. But 
when I found that the physician had testified to the 
fact in public print, and when I heard the testimony 
of his wife and neighbors, I could but believe the fact. 
Calvin Morgan is a farmer, living in the town of Gro- 
ton, near New London, Ct. Naturally, he is a. man 
of strong passion, craving disposition, voracious appe- 
tite, and very avaricious for gain. He would eat like 
a lion, drive like Jehu, toil all day and all night, and 
then think that he had not done enough. Nothing but 
the grace of God could curb his ferocious nature, or 
break his iron will. Yet, as a Christian, he is one 
of the most docile, humble, lamblike disciples, that I 
ever saw. He generally prays by the hour, and he 
fasts often to keep his nature subdued. Whether 
travelling the road, or at the plough, he almost invaria- 
bly stops at the appointed moment, drops upon his 
knees, and calls upon his God. He is one of the few 
prophets who has the greater honor in his own coun- 
try, or more honor at home than abroad. No man 
acquainted with him can doubt his sincerity, the purity 
of his motives, or the depth of his piety 

In the year 1840, he was impressed that, to have a 
closer walk with God, he must fast more than was his 
custom, which was twice a week. He saw so little 
faith in professors, so little trust and venture upon 
God, that he thought it no presumption to take God at 
his word. His nature is full of daring, full of venture, 
and full of the marvellous. He felt that man should 
not live by bread alone, and that God would sus- 



THE FASTING MAN. 317 

tain life for a certain period without bread, if we 
would trust him, and be wholly consecrated to his ser- 
vice. He laughed at men of little faith, and gloried 
in the chance to venture out upon God's promises. 
He believed that God would sustain man now in fast- 
ing, the same as he did Elijah and Moses, provided his 
faith should be unwavering ; and the day that his faith 
should waver, that day would he die. He had no idea 
of dying ; his faith was his meat and drink, and was 
more than life. 

On the seventeenth day, the physician came to visit 
him, and continued every day but one, until the forty 
days had expired. He came of his own accord, or by 
the solicitation of friends, as the patient had no need of 
him, and desired not his counsels. He placed a little 
salt upon his tongue to allay the fever, and drank a 
little water, and this was all his nourishment. The 
physician declared that he could have told in a moment 
if he had received any other nourishment. During the 
last days many thought he would die, and poured forth 
many fruitless prayers that he would eat. But he was 
inflexibly firm in his purpose, and as immovable as 
the rock of Gibraltar. He declared that he had meat 
they knew not of, — that wine and milk were making 
fat his soul ; and, in his dreams, he had been fed with 
all manner of delicious fruits and food, and he should 
never die so long as by faith he could have access to 
the tree and river of life. His wife, who is a woman 
of good sense and strong faith ^nd judgment, de- 
manded that the friends, who now crowded the house, 
should not tease him any more ; for, if it were the will 
of God, that same God would sustain him. His flesh 
had nearly dwindled away, his eyes were sunken, 
27* 



318 THE PASTING MAN. 

and his "knees were weak through fasting," so that 
he could not rise from prayer without assistance ; yet he 
could sit up, and, when gnce upon his feet, could walk 
around the house almost every day. He was an object 
of curiosity to many visitors, and especially to the 
physician. But he came to regard these visitors of but 
littLe account, as they could not comprehend his motive, 
nor the holy joys of his experience. And, as many oi 
them were determined to have him die, he might truly 
say to them, " Miserable comforters are ye all !" When 
the last day and hour had come, his wife proposed to 
him that he should now take a little gruel, as it was 
six o'clock in the evening, — the time when he com- 
menced. Yet he insisted on waiting till morning! 
But his wife was now imperious in her demands, 
and now came the most critical moment. The mo- 
ment he takes food his fast is ended, and the spell of 
faith is broken, and Nature is left alone to rally. 
Therefore, when he took the first nourishment, he was 
in the greatest danger, and then life became wellnigh 
extinct. He undertook to stand up, and, Samson-like, 
" to go out as at other times before, and shake himself," 
and he wist not that the strength of his faith had de- 
parted from him. He reeled and fell backward ; and 
now, more than ever, alarmed his friends. However, 
he revived, and gradually recovered his strength, and 
still remains a giant of faith, and a practical advocate 
of fasting. Faith and Fasting! The one a means, 
and the other a principle of grace, almost in disuse in 
our degenerate times. Hail ! thou champion of primi- 
tive times ! thou successor of the apostles and martyrs! 
May thy example and thy faith meet a reward of a 
hundred-fold in this world, and in the world to come 



THE FASTING MAN. 319 

life everlasting. The first time that I heard of him 
was at New 'London, when we were under high pres- 
sure, and were pushing the battle to the gates. A very 
loud voice of prayer rose above the confusion of the 
conflict, when a local preacher whispered to me, " Do 
you know that man ? " " No," said I. " Well, you 
need n't be afraid of him," said he ; " that man is of 
true steel; he is the man who fasted forty days!" 
And so I found him. His prayer seemed to move 
heaven and earth. And from that day forth we labored 
in many a hard-fought battle, and won by faith many 
glorious victories. His presence at a strange place 
always awakens curiosity ; and, at a camp-meeting or 
a protracted meeting, he is the lion of the day. His 
talent is not superior, and what he accomplishes must 
be purely by faith, and such faith as comes only by 
prayer and fasting. 



320 GOING HOME. 



GOING HOME. 

A "WEARY pilgrim here I roam ; 
No place on earth can be my home ; 
The friends I loved have gone before ; 
They're calling me to yonder shore. 

Chorus — "I'm going home," etc. 

On Jordan's banks with palms they stand, 
To greet me on the golden strand ; 
They're standing there, by faith I see, 
And wave their hands to welcome me. 

On zephyr's breeze they fan my breath ; 
On seraph wing they smile at death ; 
Their spirits fan this cheek of clay ; 
Their voices call me far away. 

A cherub child, with angel charms, 
There calls a 'mother to its arms ; 
And oh, the rapture ! how she smiled, 
To meet her lovely, long-lost child ! 

A poor old father's left to moan 
The last sad bird that sings alone ; 
He joys to think the hour has come, 
That brings the pilgrim to his home. 

While tottering down this vale of tears, 
He's found a staff to stay his fears ; 
And for his dim and dusky sight. 
He's found a lamp his path to light. 



PASSING AWAY. 321 

O friends, I come ! I'm almost o'er ; 
One parting pang, and death's no more ; 
Down Jordan's banks I trembling go, 
And feel the floods my soul o'erflovv. 

Ah ! Jesus leads me safely through ; 
Th' immortal shores now heave in view ; 
Farewell, my friends ! I bid you come ; 
My friends, farewell ! I'm going home. 



PASSING AWAY. 

Life's but a dream that lasts an hour, 
Joy's but a meteor through the skies. 

Youth's but the dew that decks the flower, 
Hope but a glowworm — soon it dies. 

CnoRUS — We are passing away ; we are passing away ; 

We are passing away to the great judgment day. 

As morning clouds and early dew, 

As flowers fade and fruits decay. 
As bubbles break and sink from view. 

As autumn leaves we pass away. 

As mountain rills we seek the shore, 
And quickly find the billowy strand ; 

Death as a boatman plies the oar. 
And swiftly hurries us from land. 

How blessed the saint when called to die, 
How calm he sinks to heavenly rest, 

How mildly beams his closing eye, 
As sinks the sun in parting west ! 



322 ANCHOR HOPE. 

How sweet to die and be at rest, 

When weary life's day's work is done ! 

Yea, sweet to lie on Jesus' breast, 
And feel the heavenly work begun ! 

Oh, may I die as sets the sun. 

To rise and shine in brighter sky ! 

Oh, may I lay my head upon 
The arm of Jesus when I die ! 



ANCHOR HOPE. 

WeVe launched our bark, unfurled our sail, 

Our anchor — Hope, we hold ; 
We'll ride secure through every gale, 

In every storm be bold. 

Chorus — We'll stem the storm, 
It won't be long. 

We'll anchor by and by. 

When clouds arise, and stars all fail. 

And all is lost in night. 
We'll cast our Hope within the veil. 

And wait till morning light. 

Sometimes our Captain seems asleep; 

O Master! save — we die! 
Now calm and hushed the troubled deep— 

" Be not afraid— 'tis I." 

We now behold th' immortal shore. 

Yet breakers dash our prow ; 
To prayer I then pull ! oh, pull the oar ! 

And safe we'll anchor now. 



BETHLEHEM. 323 

When death's dread breakers damp our joy, 

And sink this bark below, 
The watchman cries, " There's land, ahoy ! " 

And on to heaven we go. 

We'll chmb upon our cable — Faith, 

When ribs and spars give way ; 
And shout defiance unto death, 

Throughout an endless day. 



BETHLEHEM. 

We're marching through a desert waste, 
In hopes to find a resting-place, 

Away in Bethlehem. 
Through sorrow's night we've travelled far. 
But see at last the rising star, 

Away in Bethlehem. 

On Pisgah's height at length we stand, 
And view from far the promised land. 

Away in Bethlehem. 
Our 'raptured spirits catch the sight. 
And leap to bask within the light, 

Away in Bethlehem. 

We soon shall strike the golden shore, 
And sing and shout for evermore, 

Away in Bethlehem. 
When marching through the golden street, 
We'll cast our crowns at Jesus' feet. 

Away in Bethlehem. 



324 LOST PILGRIM. 

LOST PILGRIM. 

Deep sinking down in mire and clay, 
A helpless victim lone I lay, 

Beneath a mighty load ; 
My path was dark, no friend was nigh, 
I settled down at last to die. 

Far from the heavenly road. 

But now a stranger came that way ; 
He saw me sink beneath the clay, 

And heard my bubbling cry ; 
He caught and placed me on a rock ; 
But oh, to tell! — the dreadful shock 

Made him, not me, to die ! 

I saw his hands — his bleeding side ; 
I heard him groan ; for me he died — 

Thrice-blessed Son of God. 
Praise him, my soul, give thanks and sing ; 
Strike loud thy harp, strike every string, 

And sound his praise abroad. 

But when, alas ! again I fell. 

Oh ! who my dread despair can tell — 

My groans, my prayers, my tears ? 
The only friend who could relieve, 
Now doubly injured, could I grieve ? 

Ah, dreadful were my fears ! 

Oh ! now, my God, to thee I cling ; 
To thee I pray, give thanks, and sing ; 

And may I never fall. 
Oh ! may I strive to reach the shore, 
Where Satan's power is felt no more, 

And Christ is all in all. 



SONG OP CREATION. 



creation's first work. 



Creation's natal morn, whose orient beams 
First shot athwart the realms of Chaos, Night, 

And Erebus, I sing. And Eden's streams, 

Gold, bdellium, onyx stone, and all 't was bright 
In Paradise, to charm the dazzling sight ; 

Hiddekel, Gihon, Pison, rivers old. 

And birds whose dulcet warbles of delight 

Vied with th' Four Rivers as they rippling rolled 

Their ever-tuneful tides o'er sparkling sands of gold. 



II. 

"God said, * Let there be light!' and there was light.*' 

Light leaps electric from th' omnific throne, 
Upon the sable brow of ancient night ; 

The shades retreat ; the first day's work is done ; 

Light beamed before that spark was struck — the sun. 
God called it day, and darkness he called night ; 

Though darkness reigned — no star nor rising moon — 
'T was darkness pure as noonday's holy light. 
Sin ne'er had garbed its blackness with her cursed blight 
28 325 



326 SONG OP CREATION. 

III. 

The Evening and the Morning call young Time, 
With pendulum of years, to mark the strand 

Where past and future Everlasting chime. 

Flushed with unwrinkled youth he takes his stand, 
One foot on sea, and one on forming land, 

And notes the reverend age of field and flood. 
Three sunless days moved round with dial hand, 

And at the close of each the angels stood, 

To answer from the watchful heavens that all was good. 



rv. 



God said, " With form and shape, O earth ! uprear 
Thy head, and let thy waters backward roll ; 

Let mountains rise, and let dry land appear." 
Forthwith the elements, from pole to pole. 
From centre, through vast circuits, round the whole 

Of this great globe, unite to form the brow 
Of embryon earth's emerging infant soul. 

Baptized she rises as a rising prow ; 

Back roll the whirling waters where they 're rolling now. 



V. 



God said, "Let earth bring forth grass, herbs, and flowers, 
And fruit-trees yielding fruit ; and it was so." 

And swift, as by Enchantment's magic powers. 
Up Vegetation's kingdom sprung, in glow 
Of green, pink, purple, scarlet, and the blow 

Of Amaranths. The third day's work is done ; 
The rose in beauty blooms, no thorn to know. 

No poisonous herbs t' infect each new-born son, 

No nipping frosts, no chilling winds, no winter — none. 



SONG OP CREATION. 327 



VI. 



Behold, in chambers of the gorgeous east, 
As opening wide morn's golden gates display 

The rising painter of the flow'ry feast ! 
Lo, there ! in majesty's august array. 
O'er Eden's hills, the matchless King of Day ! 

Face of Omnipotence ! Ancient of Days! 
Glory ineffable ! Hail, holy dawning ray! 

I stand aghast in rapture's silent gaze, 

O'erwhehned in wonder at thy glory's peerless blaze. 



VII. 



God said, « Let earth and seas bring forth in kind 
Abundantly, fish, fowl, and creeping things." 

Now every hill and shore with life is lined; 

Birds rising praise their God on buoyant wings, 
And strike on Nature's harp a thousand strings ; 

Beasts waking from their lairs with dance adore ; 
And fish in frolic rise from ocean's springs, 

All free from pain, no hook their gills to gor^, 

No fisher's baited line to fright them from the shore. 



VIII. 



The lion and the lamb in concord rest. 

And sanguine blood ne'er stained the savage jaw ; 
The turtle coos upon the feline breast, 

Nor trembling fears the prowling panther's paw. 

All Nature 's ruled by this one common law— 
The law of love. No 'lectric clouds are rife 

With bursting fires, or earth with quaking flaw ; 
No warring beasts engender bloody strife ; 
No flaming sword debars them from the tree of life. 



328 SONG OP CREATION. 

IX. 

'T is sweet to gaze on Eden's sinless bowers : 
'T is sweet to hear the ripple of her rills, 

And taste the odor of her thornless flowers ; 
'T is sweet to hear the warblings from her hills, 
Of birds that never knew of winter's chills. 

Nor pain, nor pining, nor the artful snare. 
Oh, let me wander from life's troubling ills ! 

Here, bid my weary, sin-sick soul to share 

One moment of forgetfulness from earth's despair. 



Eden ! thou wast my dream when but a boy ; 

When fatherless and penniless I sought, 
Unwelcomed, sad, from door to door, employ. 

And found the world's cold charities but naught. 

Eden ! towards thee I turned my wandering thought, 
When my poor mother sick, lay sorrowing, low. 

In cottage old, and snows I deemed had wrought 
Her winding sheet ; as o'er her couch they 'd blow, 
I thought of thine Elysium, by her widowed woe. 



XI. 



Ah ! boyhood 's fled, and manhood 's made to bow ; 

This cheek is fading, and this heart repines. 
Oh ! let me linger round thy precincts now, 

As Time's harsh fingers mark these furrowed lines. 

These eyes have seen enough of crafts and crimes, 
These ears have heard enough of sighs below ; 

These feet have sped o'er many thorny climes, — 
Enough of sorrow's flood they 've felt to flow ; — 
Then give me bowers that never knew of mortal woe. 



i 



SONG OF CREATION. 329 

xn. 

Be there in all this earth a chosen spot 
Where spirits disembodied deign to dwell, 

In vestal vale, or grove or silent grot, 

'T is here in Eden ! Reader ! come and swell 
Thy heart's sweet music with the spirit spell. 

Come, let 's forget our grief of life, 

And by Siloa's stream, with tuneful shell. 

Converse with spirit scenes unknown to strife, 

Where sickness, sin, deceit, and anger ne'er were rife. 



XIII. 

Is this a dream ? What sylphlike forms I see 

Floating on fairy footsteps' flow'ret bed ! 
What voices these ? What wipes this tear from me ? 

'Tis sweet to converse with the sainted dead ; 

'Tis sweet to feel bereavement's tears we've shed, 
Now wiped by unseen hands as mine seem now. 

Oh, be my wandering footsteps ever led 
From Eden's brink to Calvary's hallowed brow, 
With saints, to love, forget, forgive, in holy vow. 



CREATION OF MAN. 

Creation 's incomplete. Lo ! fields and flowers 
We 've seen, beasts, birds, and beauteous Eden's bowers, 
But no majestic form, no stately frame, 
No ruling power to guard them or to name. 
Th' Almighty seems to pause, as if t' impress 
Our minds with nobler powers of godliness. 
"Let us make man." — Empyrean regions rung 
With hallelujahs loud, by angels sung, 
28* 



330 SONG OF CREATION. 

To greet a rising race of higher grade, 
"A little lower than the angels made." 
Fire, water, air, and earth combine to plan, 
With flesh and bone, the sinewy frame of man. 
And there he lay, a cold and lifeless clod, 
A marble form, cold as the heathen's god ; 
Eyes, hands, and organs felt no mortal strife. 
Till " God breathed in his nostrils breath of life." 
Erect he stands ! Majestic, Godlike frame, 
Earth's sovereign lord, o'er peopled realms to reign. 
Dominion thrones his brow, earth maps his chart; 
Beasts bow for names, then two by two depart. 
Earth's deep foundations now complete are laid, 
Now living creatures rise, now man is made. 
And sons of God enraptured shout for joy, 
And morning stars their sweetest songs employ. 
By all creation — earth, saints, seraphs, heaven — 
Is one eternal, glorious anthem given, 
Save one ; — 'tis Adam. Why is he thus mute- 
The lord of earth and fish and fowl and brute ? 
He was alone. Deep thoughts his bosom heived. 
Alone he sat, he sighed, alone he grieved. 
All creatures in companionship rejoice. 
In mellow accents to each other's voice ; 
In twain beasts rested, folded in their lairs ; 
In twain birds nested — sweetly singing pairs ; 
In twain are all save him ! Each sigh, each moan 
But tells too plainly, he 's alone ! alone / 



SONG OF CREATION. 331 



CREATION OF WOMAN. 



Then Adam, lone and weary, bowed in sleep , 

Elysian flowers in sweet ambrosia steep 

With dreams his senses — happy, glorious dreams, 

Enchanting more than Eden's banks or streams. 

He dreamed a beauteous image stood before. 

With slender frame and tresses waving o'er. 

And rosy cheeks that blush at mortal stain, 

And eyes that seeing once we wish again. 

Her looks all loveliness, her form all grace, 

The heau ideal of a new-born race, 

Too fine for earth, and yet too gross for heaven — 

An intermediate being, gracious given. 

So fair that Heaven's collected charms seemed spent, 

In matchless beauty's generous lavishment. 

He dreamed that from his side was gone a part, 

To circle round another lovely heart. 

And now, in misty shades, approaching near 

His waking, misty eyes, strange sights appear ! 

He wakes ! Lo, Eve, the Queen of Paradise, 

In magic beauty, greets his glowing eyes ! — 

God's last, best gift — Creation's crowning deed, 

The heart of man to bless, perchance to bleed. 

She 's bending o'er, in Nature's sculptured grace, 

With holy love's bright, beaming, conquering face. 

" Is this a dream ? " he cries — "a phantom shape, 

A fairy, come to bless, and then to 'scape?" 

He raised his head — the vision's still in view; 

It stands before, nor with his dream withdrew. 

He rose — his eyes waxed brighter as he gazed ; 

Now reaching forth, half hopeful, half amazed, 

He seized her hand ; — such joy before unknown ! 

" 'Tis! 'Tis!" he cries, " wy flesh — my bone of bone !'* 

And on his knees, as if his God t' adore. 

With hands still clasped in hers, he bows before ; 



332 SONG OF CREATION. 

Thus meeting, face to face and eye to eye, 
Thus hand to hand and heart to heart, on high 
Is seen the holy radiance of Shekinah's power, 
Distilling glory on the nuptial bower. 
New bands now formed to bless our lovely earth, 
New joys create now take their lively birth, 
New odors gush from Eden's opening flowers, 
New music rolls through Eden's 'chanted bowers, 
As opening flow'rets shed their fragrant store, 
And wings of zephyr waft the perfume o'er ; 
Angelic choirs hymenean hymns prolong — 
" Hail^ wedded love I hest boon of man 1 " the song. 



WARNING. 

Oh, for a warning voice, whose sounding breath 

Could reach fair Eve, and save a world from death ! 

Oh, for a trumpet's sound, whose dread alarm 

Could break the spell — the wily tempter's charm ! 

Eden ! can it be that all thy light 

Of glory sets in one eternal night ? 

Shall rivers run with blood, beasts howl with wails? 

Shall skies all filled with wrath pour pestilential gales ? 

Shall deeds of murder seek the sheltering night, 

And make night hideous to the rules of right ? 

Harken ! heavens ! Is there no angel power 

To guard the precincts of this nuptial bower ? 

Shall Lucifer, that fall'n, rebellious star. 

Smite infant Earth with blasts, blights, blood, and war ? 

Ye sages ! deeply versed in wisdom's ways. 

Behold the wisdom Satan here displays ! 

Ye thieves and robbers ! villains ! scamps ! — what not ? 

Behold the crafty founder of your lot ! 

"Whom first shall he address ? What guise assume, 

To turn to wilderness an Eden's bloom ? 



SONG OP CREATION. 333 

What arts devise ? What lies with truth to swell, 
To pave in Paradise the path to hell ? 
Stern man I incredulous and cold in heart, 
By reason braced, he'll heed no tempter's art — 
Too cold, too miserly, he'll count the cost, 
Eeck'ning by mites and mills, what gained or lost ; 
Alone, or by his bride, all arts must fail, 
Should him the wily tempter first assail. 
But woman ! — generous, gentle, passive, warm, 
Confiding woman ! — she must stem the storm 
Of tempest trial ; she, the weaker part. 
Must bare her bosom to the venomed dart. 
As sweetest flow'rets soonest feel the hand. 
As prowling wolves seek out the tender lamb, 
As unfledged birdlings caught within their nest, 
Thus unsuspecting beats her generous breast — 
All confidence ! — to Love a willing slave, 
Let come what will — Elysium or the grave. 
Then she must be th' unwilling medium power, 
Through which the 'lectric shock of sin shall shower 
Destruction on the globe — she bear the blame 
Of all this world's iniquity and shame — 
She spread sin's virus, to increase with rage. 
Through every climate, kindred, country, age. 



TEMPTATION. 

Consummate skill ! a serpent form appears ! 
The fairest creature genial Nature rears ; 
For then no dread associations fell. 
With sound of serpent as the voice of hell. 
Nor, prone to earth, his lofty pride inclines, 
But high the bough each circling fold entwines, 



354 SONG OP CREATION. 

With changing hues, to match the matchless skies ! 

With double tongue ! gazelle's enchanting eyes ! 

AVhat em'rald lustre ! vari'gated scales ! 

What vocal strains, on aromatic gales! 

What matchless charms, to soothe each passion still ! 

What magic eyes ! — Who can resist his will ? 

Yet Eve without a struggle ne'er can yield ; 

Her pure, warm heart by Conscience firm is steeled-^ 

Uncompromising Conscience, throned in state 

Supreme, nor yielding easy as in after date. 

But she, now lonely wandering far away, 

Felt hunger on her laboring vitals prey. 

Food is the bait the wily fiend displays ; 

'Twas thus with Christ when fasting forty days. 

Forbidden fruit now strikes her wistful sight, 

Now doubly preys her longing appetite ; 

'Twas pleasant to behold ; so then she 'd look ; 

'Twas good for food ; so then — almost — she took ! 

But Conscience, louder than the thunder stroke 

That shocks the murderer, as first he wakes 
From deeds of death, to Eve in terror spoke : — 

" Stay ! stay thy hand ! one prohibition makes 
God's firm allegiance : this but small, once broke, 

Though easy kept, thy life the forfeit takes ! " 

Now, swift as lightning, Satan seized a bough, 
And round and round in serpent coil he drew, 
On that forbidden tree where Eve had gazed. 
And in chameleon colors there he blazed ! 
Eyes rolled with dimmed but yet celestial fire ; 
Voice tuned, though sad, by heaven's melodious lyre 
Hues rich as rainbows o'er the sea of glass, 
But now in glory's ruin all ! alas ! 

Attracted by the novel, wondrous sign ; 

Eve gazed with half surprise and half delight ; 



SONG OF CREATION. 335 

Pleased with the dulcets of his syren song, 

She stood enchanted, fixed, nor knew how long. 

Now Satan o'er her mind his meshes wove ; 

He praised, he flattered, and he talked of love ; 

Her pious passion, modest, gentle, coy. 

Her peerless beauty and her speaking eye, 

Her upright frame, chaste as the silver moon ; 

Such beauties n'er aspire for heaven too soon ; 

So grand seemed woman, — highest, latest given,— 

She scorns her Paradise and gasps for heaven. 

" And hath God said. It cannot be ? " he cried ; 

" For I have taken — eaten — have not died. 

Food's not the sole inducement for this deed, 

And not for appetite alone I plead ; 

Besides its vigor for thy tender frame, 

To swell life's tide in every throbbing vein, 

Diviner powers this fruit shall thee impart. 

And higher motives now must swell thy heart. 

By this is knowledge — wondrous wisdom given, 

To 'stablish thee among the thrones of heaven. 

And "Wisdom is an attribute of God ! 

No sin in Him to whom the mountains nod ! 

No sin in thee ! Then reverently aspire 

To throne thyself with heaven's eternal Sire. 

Knowledge is food on which the angels feed ; 

Knowledge is power — the strength of mightiest deed ; 

Knowledge shall throne thee o'er the sons of earth, 

Till men and angels mark thy rightful birth. 

When all creation shall rejoice to see 

Thee look, speak, walk, and move, a deity ! 

Thou sovereign Grace ! this moment taste, when, lo ! 

From ruby lips divinest wisdom flow ! " 

Now Conscience plied her unavailing lash ; 

Eve's heart's quick throbbings 'gainst her bosom dash, 



336 SONG OF CREATION. 

As doth a fluttering bird compulsive caged; 

Thus heaven's and hell's opposing forces raged. 

Her hand stretched forth had seized the tempting prize, 

And held it distant from her longing eyes. 

Her ravished eyes on vacancy grow dim ; 

Distracting thoughts now o'er her temples swim 

When lo ! — forbid it Heaven ! — th' unwilling hand, 
Slow moving at her troubled thoughts' command. 
As Conscience, foiled, reluctantly retreats. 
Now brings it to her lips .'—she tastes I — she eats ! 



CONSTERNATION OF ADAM. 

O Adam ! where wast thou that fatal hour 
When Eve, far from thine arms' protecting power, 
There met — what scarce an angel could endure? 
Saw'st thou the unequal combat on that field ? 
Her firm resolve to ne'er submit or yield ? 

Th' alternate passions furious raging there 

Joy, grief, ambition, hope, and now despair ? 
As forest trees, when warring winds engage, 
Now here, now there, they bow to fiercer rage, 
Till monarch oaks, deep-rooted, firm and tall, 
Now swerving, yielding, breaking, crashing fall, 
So in her breast does passion's tempest rise ; 
Two foes engage in fight — the world the prize. 
And Satan wins, by treachery and guile ; — 
Mankind the captives — peopled earth the spoil. 

And Adam waited long her slow return ; 

Warm in his heart does love's sweet passion bum • 

Her absence leaves such vacancy within 

To be alone ! it is almost a sin ! 



SONG OF CREATION. 337 

Her cherub charms are imaged in each flower, 
Her seraph voice seems echoing from the bower, 
Her smiling features dance upon the sun, 
And where she is has heaven below begun. 

To make this meeting glad as was their first, 
When soul to soul first met, and glories burst 
From worlds on high, to bless their nuptial bands. 
He forms a flow'ry wreath with tender hands ; 
He plucks from sloping banks of richest hue, 
Such "flowers as ne'er in other climates grew,*' 
With incense sweet. 'Twas worthy her and him. 
To crown her with a floral diadem. 

Now Fancy paints Eve's footsteps coming slow ; 
Birds sing, buds opening bloom, sweet zephyrs flow ; 
All Nature smiles with fragrant, dewy tears ; — 
When, lo, in path unlooked for, Eve appears ! 
How changed! Her features fallen ! eyes inflamed! 
Her hair dishevelled ! cheeks abashed ! ashamed ! 
Intemperance in her veins ! her burning breath ! — 
But tell too plainly there the work of death. 
Oh, shame ! Is this the maid to Adam given — 
Pure as the bolted snow-flake lit from heaven — 
A seraph form, scarce doomed to touch the earth — 
First of the genii whose celestial birth 
Should bless the Paradise of man, and flood 
The earth with love, with glory, and with God ? 

Astonishment sits throned on Adam's brow ; 

He ne'er felt grief before, but feels it now ! 

His hand lets fall the wreath ! his blood is chill ! 

Eyes stare ! cheeks blanched ! heart frozen as a stone 

that's still. 
And thrice he strove to speak — again essayed 
To vent his sorrow o'er his Eve betrayed ! 
29 



338 SONG OP CREATION. 

" O Eve ! where hast thou been ? what hast thou done ? 

I warned thee of the tempter ; he hath won 

Thy soul. How couldst thou leave me ? why thus die ? 

Why bless these arms a day, then withering lie 

With worms, deep buried in the cold, cold ground ? 

No Eve for me ! No eye, voice, look, touch, sound ! 

Alas ! why did I for a help-meet pray ? 

O fairest flower ! thou soonest fad'st away ! 

Ten thousand times no wedded joys I'd choose, 

Than once these joys to have, and then to lose. 

I'll not survive to bend me o'er thy tomb, \ 

To read thy beauty, love, and early doom 

On mem'ry's tablets of my breaking heart, -— 

How first we met, — how lived, — how sadly part ! 

No ! no ! Each flower, each stream, each spot would speak 

Associations that my heart would break. 

" Sweet dreams ! When cares disturbed my troubled breast, 

Fatigued with naming beasts I fell to rest — 

All weary, lonely, sad, I silent lay. 

What heavenly visions blessed my opening ray ! 

Thou didst appear, with love's sweet glancing eye — 

A lovely angel from thy native sky, 

To bless my hopes, my soul, my sense, my arms, 

With seraph, love-enraptured beauty's charms. 

Mixed in embrace we met, nor soon we knew 

Of time — unheeded, swift or slow, it flew. 

From speaking eyes our answering spirits drank 

Sweet cordial nectar of cherubic rank. 

" But now, O Eve, my love, my life, my all. 

Thou art to die ! Lo ! death now weaves thy pall, 

In fretting network on thy fading cheek 

Thy sinking frame, thy poisoned limbs all weak ; 

And sure, alas, the redness of thine eye 

Tells unmistakably that thou must die ! 



SONG OP CREATION. 339 

No more thine unveiled frame, in beauty fair, 
Shall bow with me in humble evening prayer ; — 
No more the mellow warbles of thy voice 
Shall make the music of my soul rejoice ; — 
No more the grace and glory of thy holy charms 
Shall bless with joy these lonely, vacant arms. 

cruel Eve ! why break my anguished heart ? 
Why leave me so ? why heed the tempter's art ? 
But still not all to blame — thou wast deceived ; 
Oh, tenfold worse ! I am indeed bereaved ! 
Witness, ye stars ! with her by fate I'm led ; 

1 cannot live to see her cold and dead. 
Farewell to life ! With thee, O Eve, I go ! 
Farewell to hope ! We sink to shades below ! 
Farewell to Eden ! Eden has no bloom 
When thou, the fairest, liest in the tomb. 

" Together we've been joined by Heaven above, — 
Together we have lived in holy love, — 
Together all this paradise to share, — 
Together w^e have kneeled in solemn prayer, — 
Together felt our melting hearts unite. 
In bands more strong than death, in w^orlds of light. 
Should I but share the best, and not the worst ? 
Should I with thee be "blest, and not be cursed ? 
Thou art the weaker vessel, doomed to share 
A mighty curse, too great for both to bear. 
Oh, could my willing arm's protecting power 
Have shielded thee in that momentous hour ! 
As one we've wandered through fair Pison's vale, 
As one our voices warbled o'er the dale, 
As one we've slept by Gihon's gentle wave ; 
One place we've filled — we'll fill a single grave. 
Eve ! together we've been joined from high — 
Together lived — together will we die ! " 



340 SONG OP CREATION. 

Swift seizing from her hand the fruit, he eats-— 
Swift coursing through his veins the poison beats — 
Swift shades come swimming o'er his dizzy eyes, 
And Innocence resumes her native skies. 
Grieved Nature sighs, and whirlwinds rend the air, 
And earthquakes heave with groans of dread despair ^ 
Sad weeping tear-drops fall from every flower ; 
Clouds angry roll with pestilential power, 
From caves far westward, near the setting sun. 
Through hell's wide gate now first diseases sprung— 
A pale, cadaverous, ghastly train, whose breath 
Bears fever, famine, plague, contagion, death ! 
Death's flaming sword now guards the tree of life ; 
Wild, warring beasts begin their bloody strife ; 
Dread thunders flame along the troubled sky; 
And shuddering angels bear the tidings high, 
Thrice echoing back, o'er frightened Eden crossed, 
The sad intelligence that ^^AU is lost / " 



EXPULSION. 

Sweet Innocence ! bright daughter of the skies ! 
Thou cam*st with sunny smiles and sparkling eyes, 
With buoyant step and silver-tinseled wing, 
To bless earth's infant, blooming cheek of spring,— 
A cherub fair, fresh from thy heavenly home. 
O'er amaranths to revel and to roam, 
Imbibing incense from each rosy wild, — 
Heaven's fairest, happiest, holiest, sweetest child ! 
Thrice-welcome guest, to earth's first banquet spread, 
For thee ambrosial flow'rets fragrance shed. 
And sons of God with thee their harps first string. 
With morning stars Creation's hymn to sing. 



SONG OF CREATION. 341 

Thou knew'st no blush, nor felt the sting of shame, 
Nor sought earth's woven vestures for thy frame, — 
Nor fig-leaf garbs, — to shield from shame, from cold, — 
O Innocence ! lost ! lost ! thy days of old ! 

Hark ! — from the garden in the cool of day, 

A voice ! — the walking of the Lord that way. 

" O Adam ! where art thou ? He calls for thee. 

Come forth and hear thy woful destiny ! " 

The disobedient pair now prostrate fall. 

With sin-stained lips for mercy piteous call. 

Forthwith He drives them out. High o'er the way 

The cherubim their fiery flames display. 

To guard the tree of life, and show that Law 

Demands of Justice every broken flaw. 

From Eden east expelled — oh, grief, see there ! — 

The happy once, but now the wailing, pair. 

With them distracted Nature's all at war. 

The fiend of storm with brow portentous frowns, 
And rumbling on the mountain-peaks from far. 

Now peal on peal from peak to peak resounds ; 
And louder, nearer now, with hideous jar, 
Malignant Thunder rolls his rattling car. 
Beneath the lightning's flash, the thunder-stroke, 
Eve's bursting heart in anguished terrors broke. 
On all sides round, the wails of death are heard ; 
Beast feeds on beast, rapacious bird on bird ; 
The weak with panting breath. Eve circling round. 
Look up in prayer for help from savage wound ; 
Imploringly with tears they lick the dust; 
Their eyes now ask in pity whom to trust ; 
And gentle birds, that once with matin song 
Would, resting on her hand, their notes prolong, 
Receiving seeds, nor felt the slightest fear. 
Now chased by vultures fierce, are hovering near. 

29* 



342 SONG OF CREATION. 

" O Justice, come ! " she cries. " Now clog this breath. 
Oh ! why delays the tardy stroke of death ? 
Beneath this lightning's flash, this thunder's peal, 
Let me, and me alone, the venom feel ! 

" Ye innocents ! why cast on me your eyes ? 

And why upbraid me with your piteous cries ? 

O guilty hand that seized the poison store! 

Now withering, die — accursed for evermore. 

These eyes that gazed on that forbidden fruit — 

These ears that heard the lying serpent brute — 

These lips that tasted of the tempting bait. 

Now see, hear, taste, no more ! — but death await ! 

O bleeding bosom, burst ! eyes, swim with tears ! 

All sons of earth I've cursed — eternal years ! 

Yes, I, their mother ! I — heavens ! — have hurled, 

Through their deep graves, to hell an unborn world ! 

Ye future cells and caves of dark despair ! 

Ye echoing groans from death-doomed victims there ! 

Ye sighs that from the broken-hearted heave ! — 

Resound in woe the frightful name of Eve ! 

Let no fair child be christened with my name — 

Mother of murder, guile, and guilt, and shame ! 

Oh, howl, thou coiling fiend, thy deeds are done ! 

My innocence thou'st robbed, my soul thou'st won ! 

Ye suffering daughters of each coming age. 

When serpent eye and double tongue shall rage 

In face of man, beware ! Hell helps his hand 

To scatter thick-strown tombs throughout the land." 

This said, she reels — she falls ! Now cold and chill, 

Nor breath, nor pulse — one sigh, and all is still. 

There lies the fairest form e'er made of clay, 

In angel sweetness, on the thorny way. 



SONG OF CREATION. 343 

CONSOLATION. 
-• 

Now Adam bent him o'er in act to speak. 
Kindly he spoke, with tears he bathed her cheek. 
" O Eve ! why yield to grief? why thus despair? 
Do I not with thee all thy sorrows share ? 
Why wish to die ? Life yet has charms in store. 
What though we leave our home, our bdellium shore, 
And Paradise ? We are together yet — 
Together live to tu*? and toil and sweat. 
Labor will make us vigorous and bold, 
Sorrow will melt our hearts in tenderest mould, 
And suffering will seal our souls as one. 
Then live, my love, for we are not undone ! 
As grapes are closest joined when hardest pressed, 
As frightened birdlings nearest hug their nest, 
So we will cling together up life's steep, — 
Together toil and strive, — together weep. 
We'll make an Eden of the mind. With thee 
Is Eden, and no wilderness to me. 
Then live ! Now rise and stand upon thy feet ; 
Life hath its cares, 'tis true, yet life is sweet." 

His words she heard as sounds the far-off shore, 

So indistinct, as waves in one they roar. 

She wakes ! Slow comes sensation back again, 

With life's slow pulse on pulse and pain on pain. 

Where is she ? Still she seems to hear the wails 

Of suffering innocents, and, shuddering, fails 

To rise from o'er death's brink. A sigh — a chill — 

And now again her fainting heart is still. 

Yet Life, reluctant, from the shades below 

Returns with tortures to prolong her woe. 

With opening eyes, half hopeful, half in doubt 

Whether she's in the body or is out, 



344 SONG OF CREATION 

She rises on her knee to taste the air, 

And breathe to Mercy's God an humble prayer — 

A deep-felt, earnest prayer, such as is heard 
By injured maiden waking from despair, 

By human fiend too cruelly deceived. 
" O Adam ! why thus waste thy breath on me ? — 
I'm so unworthy, so unfit for thee ! 
My frame is frailty, and my name is woe — 
Wo-man ! to him who has with me to do. 
Oh, let this quaking earth with rocky jaws 
Hide me from woes of which I am the cause ! 
Oh, let me now on death's delirious brink, 
Forever, ever to its bottom sink ! 
Urge not my stay. Thou hast not sinned ; 'tis I,— 
'Tis I alone, and I alone should die. 
God will create for thee another Eve, 
To comfort, love, obey, and not deceive. 
And when thou liest on thy couch of pain, 
And burning fever whirls thy giddy brain, 
And she all meekness shall approach thy side. 
To 'suage, with prayers and tears, life's burning tide 
Tell her my fate ; that I beneath the clod. 
Caused all thy sin, thy pain, thy curse of God, 
And loss of Eden ; I, who loved thee well, 
Hath made thy soul a burning, torturing hell. 
When bending o'er thy couch, an angel fair, 
She pours for thee the ardent, holy prayer, 
And with affection's gushing, crystal waves, 
Thy burning brow in tenderness she laves. 
And calls thy answering spirit back from woe, 
And makes another paradise below, — 
When lip to lip in love, and eye to eye, 
She feels thy passion, drinks each melting sign, — 
Tell her the fate of Eve, thy first-born bride. 
Unworthy proved, though taken from thy side." 

(to be continued.) 



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